/^  A  TVHPA  T"KT    ^°1T  TTTV"VL  T    Y  Tr^1 

CAP  IAIN  CLIFTON  LIS 


i        ,„     L     v>x" 


UNI?.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


Sandy  motioned  sharply,  his  pistol  cuddled  close  to  the  cape 
over  his  right  arm. 


SANDY  FLASH 


THE  HIGHWAYMAN  OF  CASTLE  ROCK 


BYi 

CAPTAIN  CLIFTON  LISLE 

Author  of  "Diamond  Rock,"   ''Fair  Play,"  "The  Daniel 
Boone  Pageant,"   "Christmas  on   the  Meuse,"   etc. 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    IQ22,   BY 
HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY,   INC, 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  CANDLESTICK     . I 

II  THE  TRAPS , 23 

III  THE  HEARTH  RUG      ...       .;      ....  43 

IV  THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  .........  62 

V  THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL   ......  85 

VI  THE  BEAVER  DAM .  113 

VII  THE  CAVE 135 

VIII  THE  ESCAPE .       .      .       ,  157 

IX  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT     ..,      .       .      M      .  178 

X  THE  LOST  TRAIL         . 202 

XI  SIGNAL  HILL   ..........  217 

XII  THE  MASK        .....      ,      .       .;      .      ...  235 

XIII  THE  LOG  SET  .      M      .       .       .       .:      «  254 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SANDY  MOTIONED  SHARPLY,  HIS  PISTOL  CUD- 
DLED CLOSE  TO  THE  CAPE  OVER  HIS  RIGHT 
ARM Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

THERE  WAS  A  FLASH  OF  GRAYISH  FLANK  AS  THE 
STAG  TURNED  AND  LEAPED 92 

THE  HORSE  THUNDERED  PAST  THEM  IN  A  SCUD 
OF  FLYING  SNOW,  THE  RIDER  LOW  BENT  ON 
THE  ANIMAL'S  NECK 178 

I  COULDN'T  DRAW  SWORD  NOR  PISTOL,  FOR  THE 
FELLOW'S  PISTOL  AT  MY  BACK 276 


•} 


SANDY  FLASH 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  CANDLESTICK 
HAT'S  the  very  thing  we're  looking  for,  Bob! 


the  snow?"  .The  younger  boy  bent  eagerly  forward  bet- 
ter to  examine  the  track  before  him. 

"I  see  it's  a  trail  all  right,  and  not  a  cottontail's. 
Blessed  if  I  know  what  made  it,  though.  D'you,  Dave?" 
The  taller  lad  smiled  in  half-hidden  amusement  at  the 
eagerness  with  which  his  chum  was  seeking  to  unravel  the 
mystery. 

"Surely!  You  would,  too,  if  you'd  only  put  in  more 
time  out  in  the  woods  like  me,  'stead  of  fooling  with  that 
horse  of  yours  every  chance  you've  got  from  chores.  It's 
a  coon  made  it.  Coon,  Bob,  and  here's  where  we  get 
him!" 

"I  say,  Davey!  Hold  hard!  Don't  be  so  cock  sure  of 
everything.  I  mayn't  know  much  about  trapping,  but 
I've  hunted  coons  myself  with  houn'  dogs  too  many  times 
not  to  know  something  of  'em.  They  live  in  trees,  I'd  say. 
Tall  ones  mostly.  If  a  fellow  chases  'em,  why  they — " 

"  'Course  they  do!     I've  seen  their  hairs,  black  like, 


2  SANDY  FLASH 

sticking  to  the  old  gums  over  on  Blue  Hill  many  a  time. 
Once  you  get  'em  on  the  run,  they  make  for  the  highest 
tree  they  can  see.  It'll  be  an  evergreen,  like  as  not,  if 
there's  one  close  by.  And  then  they  keep  its  cover  be- 
tween 'em  and  you.  I  know  all  that.  But  they  stay  on 
the  ground  lots,  just  the  same,  when  it's  quiet.  I've  found 
their  marks  round  hollow  logs  and  stumps.  That's  why  I 
hunted  so  close  for  a  trail  in  here.  Look  at  this  well,  Bob, 
and  you'll  be  able  to  mark  it  better  the  next  time." 

The  two  boys  bent  down  to  study  the  tracks  at  close 
quarters.  There  they  were,  quite  clear  in  the  soft  snow, 
leading  across  a  little  glade  in  the  forest  toward  the  near- 
by stream. 

David  Thomas,  the  younger  boy,  was  a  lad  of  fifteen, 
wiry  to  the  point  of  leanness,  but  lithe  and  supple  and 
tough  as  a  bit  of  hickory.  The  Welsh  blood  in  him 
showed  in  the  high-cheeked  eager  face  and  darkish  hair. 
The  boy  loved  all  outdoors  with  a  silent  sort  of  passion 
that  he  could  not  well  explain.  To  walk  the  woodland  for 
untold  miles,  by  himself,  in  any  kind  of  weather,  to  watch 
his  trap  lines  and  cubbies  in  winter  and  fish  and  hunt 
and  stalk  in  summer  and  fall,  this  brought  a  glow  to  his 
mind  and  a  tingle  to  his  muscles  that  enabled  him  to  stand 
far  more  than  many  a  lad  years  older.  Dave  Thomas 
had  lived  all  his  life  on  a  farm  near  the  Rose  Tree  in 
Upper  Providence  and  he  knew  from  daily  practice  the 
meaning  of  a  farm  boy's  chores.  They  came  first.  Once 
done,  however,  and  done  thoroughly,  then  he  was  free  to 
make  what  use  he  would  of  his  spare  time.  His  father, 
Hugh  Thomas,  was  a  fair  man  and  a  wise  one,  for  all  his 
strict  ways  of  rearing  a  family,  since  by  such  an  under- 


THE  CANDLESTICK  3 

standing  with  his  boy,  Dave  not  only  did  his  chores  gladly, 
but  well.  He  knew  that  on  this  depended  his  chances  for 
a  Saturday  now  and  then  with  traps  or  gun  in  the  woods 
near  his  home.  That,  to  the  boy,  was  as  the  very  breath 
of  life. 

The  old  Welsh  blood,  with  its  dark  touch  of  aloofness, 
ran  unusually  strong  in  him,  tending  to  make  him  a  bit 
broody  at  times  and  apt  to  keep  apart  from  other  boys  his 
own  age.  His  life-long  friendship  for  Bob  Allyn,  how- 
ever, was  unshakable.  It  was  the  best  thing  in  the  world 
for  him,  too,  as  it  served  the  purpose  of  bringing  him  out 
of  himself.  The  very  contrasts  in  their  natures  drew  the 
lads  together  unconsciously. 

Bob  Allyn,  fair  and  rugged,  was  nearly  seventeen,  a 
good  deal  taller  and  heavier  than  Dave,  but  lacking  the 
quickness  of  thought  and  action  that  marked  his  chum. 
Bob  loved  horses  and  dogs  with  the  same  feeling  that 
Dave  loved  his  traps  and  his  lonely  forest  trails.  The  boy 
was  able  to  do  much  with  the  young  stock  on  his  father's 
place  near  Sycamore  Mills,  thanks  to  this  same  sym- 
pathetic understanding  of  them.  He  had  broken  in  more 
than  one  colt  that  the  men  had  almost  despaired  of.  The 
very  calmness  of  his  Scotch  nature,  his  way  of  thinking 
things  out  thoroughly,  a  bit  at  a  time,  enabled  him  to  gain 
a  control  over  animals  and  impart  a  confidence  to  them 
that  many  seemingly  keener  boys  could  never  hope  to 
equal.  Bob  made  no  claim  of  understanding  trapping, 
however.  His  interests  were  in  riding  and  jumping  and 
schooling  young  horses  far  more  than  in  the  pitting  of  his 
brains  against  the  wild  things  of  the  wood. 

This  morning,  thanks  to  Dave's  repeated  urging,  he  had 


4  SANDY  FLASH 

made  an  exception  and  ridden  over  early  from  Sycamore 
Mills,  bent  upon  joining  his  chum  in  a  day's  tramp  along 
the  banks  of  Ridley,  and  a  search  of  the  possibilities  for  a 
new  trap  line  near  Hunting  Hill  in  Edgemont  where  game 
was  still  plentiful.  The  winter  had  been  a  cold  one  and 
pelts  had  primed  in  splendid  fashion  some  time  before 
this  Saturday  when  the  mid-December  frosts  had  broken  a 
bit  and  the  waters  of  Crum  and  Ridley  ran  free  from  ice 
almost  as  though  a  spring  thaw  had  come.  Winter  mild 
spells  come  that  way  now  and  again  in  the  County  of 
Chester,  and  the  year  of  Our  Lord  1777  was  no  exception. 
A  slight  fall  of  snow  the  previous  morning  had  left  a  clean 
slate  for  tracking  and  the  boys  had  been  quick  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  ideal  conditions. 

"Couldn't  be  anything  but  a  coon  track,  Bob;  look 
here,"  Dave  was  on  his  knees  pointing.  "See  how  it's 
shaped — just  like  a  foot  with  long  toes.  A  regular  mark 
like  a  little  child's  bare  foot,  only  for  it's  being  smaller. 
Coons  always  make — " 

"Reckon  you're  right,  Davey,  now  we  can  see  it  well. 
I  remember  a  track  like  that  last  summer.  It  was  in  the 
dust  of  our  garden  patch,  but  I  wasn't  sure  what  made  it. 
It  was  the  time  when  the  sorrel  filly  was  coming  along  so 
nicely  at  the  jumping  and  I  didn'  have  half  a  chance  to 
puzzle  it  out.  Sure  was  fond  of  sweet  corn  though,  coon 
or  no  coon.  I  say — " 

The  chill,  midwinter  hush  of  the  forest  snapped  sud- 
denly with  a  sound  that  brought  both  boys  to  their  feet. 
From  the  top  of  Hunting  Hill,  high  above,  there  had  rung 
out  a  sharp  cry  for  help  that  cut  through  the  frosty  air 
like  the  crack  of  huntsman's  thong.  There  was  a  mo- 


THE  CANDLESTICK  5 

merit's  silence,  as  the  echo  died  away  far  beyond  Edge- 
mont  and  the  Willistown  Hills.  Then  came  once  more 
that  faint  call  for  aid,  shrilled  by  distance,  yet  throbbing 
with  mortal  pain  or  terror.  That  was  all.  Bob  dropped 
his  traps  and  began  to  struggle  after  David  up  the  slope, 
the  unexpectedness  of  the  alarm  sending  his  heart  thump- 
ing wildly  against  his  ribs. 

The  pitch  of  Hunting  Hill  was  steep  and  the  snow, 
though  only  an  inch  or  two  in  depth,  had  a  provoking  way 
of  slipping  downhill  beneath  the  boys'  feet  as  their  mocas- 
sins pressed  through  it  to  the  matted  leaves  beneath. 
Dave,  more  familiar  with  the  woods  and  in  better  condi- 
tion for  climbing,  soon  outdistanced  his  companion,  but 
the  latter  kept  at  it  close  behind  him  up  the  slope.  Since 
that  second  piercing  cry  for  aid,  no  further  sound  had 
disturbed  the  frozen  chill  of  the  noonday.  As  they  panted 
on  to  the  more  or  less  level  summit  of  the  hill,  the  boys 
broke  into  a  run,  forcing  their  way  through  the  under- 
brush in  an  endeavor  to  reach  the  spot  whence  the  call 
had  come.  That  there  was  urgent  need  of  haste  there 
could  be  no  doubt. 

The  speed  of  the  racing  lads  soon  checked  to  a  jog,  then 
to  a  struggling  walk,  as  a  tangled  thicket  of  greenbriers, 
foxgrapes  and  thorns  barred  their  way.  Dave  paused,  his 
quick  mind  seeking  to  recall  whether  or  not  he  had  ever 
found  a  path  round  them  on  previous  tramps  to  the  hill. 
Bob  did  not  hesitate,  but  without  a  thought  for  rent 
clothes  or  thorn-scratched  face,  he  crashed  into  the  thicket 
and  fought  his  way  to  the  other  side.  For  once,  he  had 
acted  with  a  speed  that  left  Dave  in  the  rear.  His  great 
strength  stood  him  in  good  stead.  The  boy  literally  tore 


6  SANDY  FLASH 

his  passage  clear,  leaving  a  lane  through  which  the 
younger  lad  could  squirm. 

As  he  burst  free  from  the  clutch  of  the  greenbriers,  Bob 
found  himself  in  a  little  glade  where  a  path  crossed  be- 
tween the  trees,  running  off  to  the  right.  The  boy's  ruddy 
cheek  had  a  rip  that  slashed  it  from  jaw  to  ear,  so  that  the 
blood  trickled  down  his  neck  in  crimson  stain.  There 
was  no  thought  of  smarting  face,  however,  in  Bob's  mind, 
as  he  came  into  the  open.  In  utter  bewilderment,  he 
checked  his  pace,  striving  to  understand  the  sight  that 
lay  before  him. 

Across  the  glade,  a  score  of  yards  away,  just  where  the 
forest  path  looped  round  a  huge  white  oak,  stood  a  man 
on  tiptoe.  Yet,  strangely,  he  seemed  to  be  leaning  back 
against  the  tree.  Both  arms  were  high  above  his  head. 
Dave  pushed  his  way  clear  of  the  bushes  and  halted  be- 
side Bob  Allyn,  alike  dumbfounded,  as  he  tried  to  make 
out  the  meaning  of  what  he  saw.  The  man  before  them, 
standing  half  sideways  to  the  boys,  was  stripped  to  the 
waist  and  for  all  his  reaching  upward,  never  uttered  a 
sound  nor  moved  at  the  lads'  approach.  Something 
seemed  to  be  wrong  with  his  breathing  for  his  ribs  rose 
and  fell  spasmodically  with  strain.  Dave  recovered  his 
presence  of  mind  first  and  leaped  forward  to  see  more 
clearly  what  the  man  was  about. 

"He's  tied,  Bob !    Quick !     Get  him  loose ! " 

A  moment  later  both  boys  were  beside  the  oak,  working 
at  the  rawhide  thong  that  bound  the  prisoner's  wrists  to- 
gether. The  man,  evidently  well  past  middle  age,  was  in 
pitiful  shape.  His  hands  had  been  secured  against  the 
oak's  trunk  where  a  small  branch  offered  a  convenient 


THE  CANDLESTICK  7 

fastening  place  for  the  thong.  His  coat  of  tough  frieze 
and  his  woolen  shirt  had  been  roughly  snatched  off,  ex- 
posing the  upper  portion  of  his  body  to  the  bitter  winds 
of  the  dying  year.  Across  his  chest  swelled  great  raw 
welts  as  though  he  had  been  lashed  with  a  whip.  One 
cut  had  ripped  the  skin.  That  he  had  kept  silent  from 
no  choice  of  his  own,  was  due  to  a  gag,  at  first  unnoticed 
by  the  boys.  The  thing  was  fast  choking  the  breath  from 
his  lungs,  as  he  strove  to  get  air  past  the  thick  wad  of 
paper  that  had  been  crammed  in  his  mouth  and  made  fast 
there  by  a  strip  of  cloth  partially  covering  his  nose. 

A  slash  or  two  from  Bob's  jack  knife  severed  the  thong 
and  allowed  the  man's  body  to  slide  forward  to  the 
ground.  A  moment  later,  his  numbed  arms  were  free. 
Bob  chafed  them  in  an  effort  to  restore  circulation,  while 
Dave  tore  the  bandage  from  the  sufferer's  lips.  The  gag 
seemed  to  have  caused  him  the  greatest  pain.  Soon  his 
panting  ceased  and  he  was  able  to  stand  on  his  feet.  Hur- 
riedly the  boys  helped  him  to  put  on  his  ripped  clothing. 
Then  for  the  first  time  he  spoke,  his  voice  uncertain  from 
the  ordeal. 

"A  narrow  call,  lads!  An  old  fellow  like  me  can't  stand 
over  much  of  this  weather  in  the  buff!  I'd  frozen  stiff  as 
any  jack  herring  before  long,  muzzled  and  spread-eagled 
that  a-way!" 

"What  happened?  Who — "  Dave  looked  about  him, 
seeking  some  explanation  of  the  extraordinary  position  in 
which  they  had  found  the  prisoner. 

"We  heard  a  call  for  help  and  ran  up  from  the  creek," 
volunteered  Bob.  "I  say!  What  in  the  world  did  they 
do  it  to  you  for?  Who — Where Ve  they  gotten  to?" 


8  SANDY  FLASH 

"One  at  a  time,  lads,  one  at  a  time ! "  The  man  swung 
his  arms  and  stamped  about  in  the  snow,  trying  to  warm 
his  chilled  and  shivering  body.  "Are  you  armed?  That's 
the  first  thing.  If  you  are,  quick,  give  me  your  guns! 
We'll  try  to  catch  the  blackguard  before  he  gets  away. 
He  can't  be  half  a  mile  from  here  right — " 

"We  haven't  a  thing.  Not  even  a  pistol/'  said  Bob. 
"We  were  trapping  over  this  way — " 

"Then  it's  no  use  trying  to  find  him  now.  Not  the  least. 
We'd  best  hurry  down  to  the  road  at  Edgemont  Corner. 
There  might  be  some  people  passing  by  to  warn!  I'll 
have  to  raise  the  countryside!  We'll — " 

"Let's  start  then;  it'll  be  easy  to  follow  the  tracks  if 
we  begin  right  off! 

"Tell  us  what  happened  as  we  go!"  Dave  was  quite 
beside  himself  with  excitement. 

The  man  savagely  stamped  the  wad  that  had  been  his 
gag  deep  into  the  snow.  Then  he  turned  toward  the 
northern  edge  of  the  wood.  Dave's  mind  was  keyed  to 
its  sharpest,  as  he  tried  to  think  out  some  plan  of  immedi- 
ate action,  but  it  was  the  more  thoroughgoing  Bob  whose 
inspiration  helped  the  most.  He  paused  suddenly. 

"Oh,  I  say!  Let's  stop  a  second!  That's  the  paper  he 
gagged  you  with !  None  of  us  looked  at  it  at  all!  Maybe 
it  might—" 

"Won't  do  any  harm  to  look,  if  you  can  make  head  or 
tail  of  it,  chewed  that  a-way.  I  doubt  it's  more  than  any 
old  thing  he  had  handy  in  his  pocket  though.  Let's 
hurry!"  The  man  turned  back  without  much  show  of 
enthusiasm  and  watched  Bob  dig  up  the  half-chewed  pulp 
from  the  snow. 


THE  CANDLESTICK  9 

A  few  minutes'  effort  at  reading  the  legend  soon  con- 
vinced them  that  their  seeming  loss  of  time  had  been  well 
spent.  The  paper  was  the  upper  portion  of  an  official 
hand  bill  or  notice.  Almost  illegible  from  wind  and 
weather,  it  must  have  been  roughly  torn  down  from  some 
place  where  it  had  been  posted.  Its  five  minutes'  lodge- 
ment crumpled  in  the  prisoner's  mouth  had  not  served  to 
make  it  the  more  readable,  but  between  them  the  anxious 
little  group  in  the  glade  contrived  to  make  enough  of  it 
to  serve  their  purpose  far  better  than  they  had  hoped 
when  they  paused  to  look  it  over. 

The  paper  was  part  of  an  official  notice  of  the  county 
offering  to  all  and  sundry  the  sum  of  $1000  reward  for  the 
capture,  alive  or  dead,  of  a  certain  James  Fitzpatrick, 
alias  Captain  Fitz,  alias  Sandy  Flash,  twice  a  deserter 
from  the  American  army  under  Washington,  now  said  to 
be  at  large  within  the  bounds  of  the  said  County  of  Ches- 
ter, terrorizing  the  people,  robbing  the  highways,  waging 
cruel  war  on  patriotic  Whig  farmers  and  making  it  un- 
safe, especially,  for  the  tax  collectors  to  venture  abroad 
without  guard.  The  description  followed.  Tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  of  enormous  strength,  yet  notedly  active  and 
swift  of  foot,  hair  bright  red — the  recent  victim  cried  out 
as  he  read  aloud  the  items. 

"I  knew  it!  The  man  himself!  The  very  spit  of  him! 
His  hair  was  red  as  a  burning  rick  and  his  arms  like  the 
beam  of  a  Kennett  plow!  Sandy  Flash!  Why,  he's 
been—" 

"Sandy  Flash!"  Dave's  voice  shrilled  high.  "The 
highwayman  from  Hand's  Pass!  He'd  never  come  here 
so  far  away,  yet — " 


io  SANDY  FLASH 

"It  couldn't  be  any  one  else!  I  knew  it!"  The  man 
shook  the  ragged  paper  at  the  boys  excitedly.  "To  think 
the  ruffian  nearly  choked  the  life  from  me  with  the  reward 
for  his  own  capture!  It's  like  I've  heard  tell  of  him. 
Hand's  Pass,  did  you  say?  Why — " 

"Yes,  in  the  Valley,  where  the  Great  Road  to  Lancaster 
climbs  over  the  hills,"  replied  Dave,  who  had  once  visited 
kinsfolk  close  by  Duffryn  Mawr  and  so  knew  the  Valley 
country  well. 

"I  know  that,"  answered  the  man,  "but  that's  not  the 
only  place  he  keeps  hidden  in  from  all  the  hue  and  cry 
that's  hot  upon  him  for  the  villainy  he's  done  the  tax  men 
and  the  rest.  I  wish  it  were,  but  the  rascal  has  a  secret 
place  near  where  I  come  from  out  in  Newlin.  And  he's 
been  seen,  too,  in  West  Bradford,  more's  the  pity. 
Only  a—" 

"What  more  does  the  paper  have  on  it?  I  say,  we'd 
best  begin  to  get  something  done."  Bob  had  been  listen- 
ing as  eagerly  as  Dave,  but  felt  that  the  time  called  for 
action,  not  a  recital  of  the  highwayman's  secret  lairs. 

They  bent  once  more  to  decipher  the  rumpled,  sodden 
handbill,  but  little  of  value  could  be  made  of  it.  There 
was  a  description  of  an  accomplice  of  Sandy  Flash,  one 
Mordecai  Dougherty,  with  a  lesser  reward  for  his  capture. 
Colonel  Andrew  Boyd,  of  Sadsbury,  Lieutenant  of  the 
County  of  Chester,  had  a  line  calling  upon  all  law-abiding 
men  to  unite  in  capturing  both  outlaws,  dead  or  alive. 
The  Executive  Council  endorsed  this.  The  torn  sheet 
broke  off  at  that  point,  but  little  more  was  needed.  The 
two  boys  looked  significantly  at  the  man  as  he  returned  it 
to  his  pocket. 


THE  CANDLESTICK  n 

"Lads,  we're  not  clear  of  this  fellow  yet,  not  by  a  long 
shot,  nor  won't  be,  long  as  we  stand  here  gabbling  in  the 
woods  with  nary  a  gun  between  us.  Small  doubt  he's  on 
the  Strasburg  Road  this  minute,  looking  for  my  horse. 
He  must—" 

"Your  horse!    What  happened?"  questioned  Dave. 

"Come  on,  lads,  we'll  hurry  along  and  I'll  tell  you  the 
whole  thing  as  we  go.  But  first  suppose  you  tell  me  who 
you  are.  Live  near  abouts?"  The  man  moved  off  once 
more  toward  the  northern  edge  of  the  woodland  and  fol- 
lowed the  path  at  a  rapid  walk  along  the  high  ground  that 
swept  in  bare,  snow-covered  fields  before  them.  Beyond 
the  next  hill  ran  the  Strasburg  Road,  the  rutted  lane  that 
crossed  the  dip  of  the  valley  from  the  hill  south  of  Newton 
Square,  passed  through  Crum  Creek  ford,  climbed  a  bit  to 
Edgemont,  thence  dropped  down  over  Ridley  near  Hunt- 
ing Hill,  and  on  toward  the  Turk's  Head  Tavern  far  to 
the  west.  Bob  lengthened  his  stride  until  he  had  come 
abreast  of  the  man. 

"Now  then,  we'd  best  get  this  thing  cleared  up  from 
the  start,"  he  said  quietly,  "if  we're  to  catch  anybody  or 
do  any  good  at  all.  We  know  it's  Sandy  Flash  and  that's 
all  we  do  know.  I'm  Bob  Allyn  from  Sycamore  Mills 
yonder  in  Middletown.  This  is  David  Thomas.  He  lives 
by  the  Rose  Tree  over  Blue  Hill.  What  happened  to  you 
on  the  road?" 

Dave  squeezed  in  beside  his  chum  along  the  narrow 
lane,  as  they  hastened  on.  After  a  moment,  the  stranger 
began  his  explanation. 

"You're  right,  lad,  right  as  trivets.  A  man  can't  da 
much  if  he's  in  the  dark.  Nor  boys,  either.  I'm  glad 


ia  SANDY  FLASH 

Fve  got  your  names,  for  Hugh  Thomas  I've  known  this 
many  a  day.  Who  doesn't  know  him,  I  wonder?  The 
best  farmer  that  ever  came  out  the  Old  Welsh  Barony!" 
The  man  smiled  toward  David,  then  continued.  "It's 
precious  little  I've  to  tell  and  mighty  little  pride  I've  got 
left  in  the  telling.  I'm  Peter  Burgandine  from  Newlin 
way.  Your  father,  John  Allyn,  knows  me,  lad.  I  was 
coming  down  toward  Pratt  House  at  the  Square  where 
I've  a  cattle  deal  with  Jehu  Evans  over  to  Marple.  Know 
Mm?  Reckon  you  do,  young  Allyn.  Just  as  I  jogged 
along  a  bit  west  of  Edgemont,  where  the  road  goes  high 
over  the  hill,  out  steps  a  man  from  a  patch  of  sumac  and 
cedar  bushes.  He  was  favoring  the  off  leg  right  badly  and 
waved  me  to  stop.  'Course  I  did,  supposing  he'd  gone  and 
gotten  hurt  some  way.  As  he  came  close,  he  sort  of  leaned 
against  my  horse's  shoulder.  I  started  to  get  off  and  as  I 
swung  clear  of  the  pummel,  he  straightens  up  and  reached 
under  his  coat  to  snatch  out  a  pistol!  Then  he  leveled  it 
at  my  head.  In  broad  daylight,  mind  you,  not  half  an 
hour  gone!"  Burgandine  rubbed  a  moment  at  his  wrists, 
as  he  kept  up  his  hurried  stride. 

"I  had  two  pistols,  loaded,  on  my  saddle,  but  I  hadn't 
any  time  to  get  'em  from  the  holsters,  as  I  was  halfway 
off  before  he  showed  his  weapon.  That  man  meant 
trouble!  He  ordered  me  to  let  go  the  horse  and  he  sent 
it  galloping  down  the  road,  pistols  and  all,  with  a  wave  of 
his  arm  before  I  could  snatch  at  the  reins.  Then  he  drove 
me  before  him  off  the  highway  and  over  the  top  of  the 
hill,  out  of  sight.  What  could  I  do  with  his  pistol  in  the 
crook  of  my  back?"  The  old  man  laughed  slyly.  "I  went 
along  with  him  quiet  as  a  lamb  all  right.  Who  wouldn't, 


THE  CANDLESTICK  13 

seeing  that  the  money  for  the  cattle  deal  was  in  two  little 
bags  at  the  bottom  of  the  holsters!  He  never  so  much 
as—" 

"Didn't  the  fellow  get  the  money  after  all?"  broke  in 
Bob.  "Oh,  I  say—" 

"That  was  clever  all  right!  But  where'd  your  horse 
get  to?"  Dave  pressed  forward,  eager  to  learn  more. 

"The  good  Lord  only  knows,"  Burgandine  replied  with 
a  hopeless  shake  of  the  head,  as  the  three  scrunched  along, 
over  the  dry  snow.  "Last  I  saw  he  was  galloping  past 
the  hill  toward  Street  Road,  gone  clear  to  Westtown  or 
Thornbury  by  now,  I  reckon!  Well,  boys,  I  may  have 
saved  the  shillings  for  Friend  Jehu,  don't  know  yet,  but 
it  came  precious  close  to  tallying  me  dear!  Once  clear 
of  the  road,  the  blackguard  searched  me  from  top  to  toe 
and  only  found  a  couple  of  fippenny  bits.  He  must  have 
thought  I  was  carrying  money,  for  he  went  into  a  rage  at 
not  finding  any.  Then  I  began  to  see  in  what  a  dangerous 
pickle  I  was.  I  reckoned  at  the  time  it  must  be  Sandy 
Flash.  He  poked  me  along  before  him,  hidden  by  a 
hedgerow,  till  we  came  to  this  path.  Then  we  reached 
the  woods.  I  didn't  know  what  he'd  do  next,  but  when 
he  began  to  threaten  me  with  his  pistol  and  say  he'd  blow 
my  brains  out  unless  I  told  him  where  the  money  was,  I 
decided  to  make  a  break  for  it." 

The  man  paused,  scanning  the  empty  landscape  of 
snow  that  rolled  away  in  a  great  bowl-shaped  hollow  to 
Newtown  in  the  east.  Not  a  thing  moved,  save  a  distant 
crow,  low  flying,  like  a  black  smudge  against  the  white  of 
the  opposing  hills. 

"That  was  a  mistake.    As  I  jumped  for  him,  he  hopped 


14  SANDY  FLASH 

sideways,  tripped  me  up  and  cracked  me  a  nasty  wallop 
along  the  head  with  the  barrel  of  his  pistol.  I'm  not  so 
spry  as  I  used  to  be,  nor  young  as  I  was  once,  and  it  sent 
me  groggy  a  minute.  By  the  time  I'd  come  round,  he  had 
me  tied.  Could  have  killed  me.  That's  about  all,  I 
reckon.  The  brute  cursed  me  for  a  Whig  and  for  trying 
to  get  away  and  said  he'd  teach  me  a  lesson  and  find  out 
where  the  money  was  at  the  same  time.  I  think  he  tool^ 
me  for  a  tax  man  or  a  bailiff  when  first  he  spied  pistols 
on  the  saddle. 

"You  saw  what  he  did.  After  he'd  torn  my  coat  off  and 
my  shirt,  trying  to  find  money  pockets  in  the  lining,  he 
tied  me  up  with  the  thong  of  my  own  riding  crop,  then 
lashed  at  me  with  a  hickory  withe  till  I  was  fairly  welted 
raw!  You  saw  it?  I  knew  I'd  freeze  or  die  if  he  kept  it 
up,  so  I  called  for  help.  I'd  been  afraid  to  before  when 
he  had  me  under  his  pistol,  but  now  it  was  my  only  chance. 
It  seemed  a  precious  slim  one  in  this  wild  place.  He  may 
have  heard  you  boys  climbing  the  hill.  I  don't  know. 
Anyway  he  stopped  cutting  at  me  all  of  a  sudden  and 
pulled  a  crumpled  bit  of  paper  from  his  coat  tails.  That 
was  the  gag  and  I  nearly  choked  on  it.  Guess  I  would 
have,  if  you  fellows  hadn't  come  up  when  you  did.  Then 
he  cut  me  one  last  fearful  lash  and  walked  off,  saying  he'd 
leave  me  to  think  it  over.  He'd  not  been  gone  two  min- 
utes, though  it  did  seem  nigh  a  fortnight,  when  you  came 
through  the  briers.  That's  all  there  is  to  tell,  I  guess. 
The  thing  now,  lads,  is  get  a  posse  and  catch  him,  not 
talk  about  it." 

Peter  Burgandine  had  received  a  manhandling  that 
might  well  have  cooled  the  ardor  of  a  younger  man,  yet 


THE  CANDLESTICK  15 

the  sturdy  old  farmer  of  Newlin  was  as  eager  to  come 
up  with  the  highwayman  and  bring  him  to  justice  as  the 
two  boys  at  his  side  were  keen  to  join  him  in  lending  their 
aid.  A  few  moments  more  brought  them  over  the  high 
ground  and  in  sight  of  the  road  that  ran  east  to  Edge- 
mont  crossways.  There  was  no  sign  of  Burgandine's 
horse,  so  they  turned  into  the  lane  and  moved  on  quickly 
toward  the  distant  inn  at  Newtown  Square,  where  the 
farmer  still  hoped  to  meet  Jehu  Evans,  the  cattle  man. 
As  they  strode  along,  Burgandine  continued  his  story. 
The  man,  like  most  of  his  neighbors  in  Newlin  and  Marl- 
borough,  well  understood  the  ill  repute  of  the  outlaw  with 
whom  he  had  just  dealt.  Silencing  the  eager  queries  of 
Bob  and  Dave,  he  began  at  the  beginning  so  that  they 
might  realize  the  danger  they  had  missed. 

"They  call  him  Sandy  Flash,  lads,  but  his  real  name  is 
James  Fitzpatrick,"  Burgandine  explained.  "I  know, 
because  he  hails  from  my  part  of  the  country — out  in 
West  Maryborough,  across  the  Brandywine.  I  never  re- 
member seeing  him,  though.  Had  I,  that  hair  of  his  would 
have  stuck  in  my  mind !  It's  more  flaming  fire  than  any- 
thing else.  John  Passmore,  by  Doe  Run,  told  me  only 
last  week,  when  some  one  was  speaking  at  the  store  about 
Sandy  Flash  at  Hand's  Pass  holding  up  the  travel  on  the 
Lancaster  Great  Road,  Passmore,  he  up  and  told  me  the 
man  had  been  bound  out  to  him  as  a  lad  years  ago. 

"Used  to  be  a  decent  sort,  at  that,  learning  his  trade, 
blacksmithing  and  horseshoeing,  same  as  you'd  do  or  any 
other  young  fellow  in  the  country.  He's  the  powerfulest 
strength  you  ever  heard  tell  of.  A  bull  of  a  wrestler,  John 
Passmore  said,  and  famous  fine  at  hunting  and  rolling 


16  SANDY  FLASH 

bullets.  Never  did  a  scurvy  trick  all  the  time  he  was  at 
Passmore's  place,  he  didn't,  just  wore  his  prentice  apron 
like  a  good  one.  Then  the  war  came  and  he  went  with 
the  county  troops  to  New  York.  The  Flying  Camp,  it 
was,  they  called  it.  But  it  ruined  him.  The  discipline  he 
couldn't  stand."  Burgandine  sighed,  then  went  on. 

"They  say  they  flogged  him  for  some  little  thing  or 
other  and  it  turned  him  savage.  Swam  the  Hudson  River, 
that  he  did,  with  bullets  spraying  all  about  him.  They 
caught  him  in  Philadelphia  town,  where  he'd  gotten  mixed 
up  with  that  brigand,  Moses  Doan,  the  terror  of  Bucks. 
Well,  the  sheriffs,  they  clapped  Sandy  Flash  into  the  gaol 
on  Walnut  Street,  like  a  shot,  then,  more  fools  they,  they 
went  and  let  him  out  again.  Because  he  said  he'd  go  on 
fighting  with  the  redcoats!  Fighting  with  'em!  He  told 
the  truth  for  once.  He  tricked  'em  fair!  He  fought  his 
own  neighbors  with  'em  at  the  Brandywine  last  fall  and 
been  hand  in  glove  with  Cornwallis  ever  since!  \Vhen  the 
troops  moved  to  the  town,  he  stayed  behind  and  look  at 
what  a  pass  he's  come  to  now,  tying  people  up  to  trees  and 
lashing  'em  with  withes!  There's  not  a  farmer  safe  from 
Tredyffrin  to  Nottingham!  No,  not  from  Coventry  to 
Kennett!"  Burgandine  stopped  a  moment  to  look  up  and 
down  the  road,  but  the  way  was  deserted. 

As  they  passed  a  wood  that  covered  a  hill  to  their  right, 
Dave  glanced  up  at  the  trees.  It  was  the  height  of  Castle 
Rock,  a  place  he  had  never  trapped.  Mentally  he  resolved 
to  give  it  a  try,  as  soon  as  he  and  Bob  Allyn  should  find  a 
chance  to  finish  their  line  at  Hunting  Hill. 

By  the  time  Burgandine  had  ended  his  story,  the  trio 
iad  passed  the  Boot  Road  where  it  forked  back  toward 


THE  CANDLESTICK  17 

White  Horse  Hill.  Soon  they  turned  to  the  left  at  New* 
town  crossroad.  Half  a  mile  north  of  it  was  the  Square. 
The  stone  Pratt  House  Inn  appeared  as  they  topped  the 
hill.  The  tavern  stood  in  the  southwest  angle  formed  by 
the  Goshen  Road  crossing  the  one  through  Newtowr*. 
Fully  a  score  of  horses  were  tethered  to  the  railing  in 
front  of  the  door. 

"What's  happening  at  the  Pratt?"  cried  Peter  Bur- 
gandine,  as  he  saw  the  unusual  crowd.  "Surely  there's  no 
sale  to-day!  'Twas  only  Jehu  Evans  I  looked  to  see 
here.  Hurry,  lads,  we'll  have  a  tale  to  tell  that'll  set  the 
pack  of  'em  to  horse  and  scouring  the  country  in  short 
order!" 

"We're  in  luck  for  sure,"  sang  out  Bob,  catching  the 
eagerness  in  the  farmer's  tone  and  wondering  how  best 
he  could  borrow  a  mount  for  the  chase.  "It  won't  take 
us  five  minutes  to  gallop  back  across  country  to  where 
Flash—" 

"Looks  as  if  they'd  galloped  a  lot  already,"  interrupted 
Dave,  his  alert  eye  noting  even  at  that  distance  the  faint 
steam  that  rose  above  the  horses'  flanks  in  the  cold  air. 
"They've  had  a  meet  of  the  fox  hounds  somewhere  and 
then  ridden  here  for  a  round  of  ale.  I  wonder — " 

Burgandine  broke  into  a  run.  Followed  by  the  boys, 
he  dashed  in  the  tavern  and  flung  back  an  inner  door 
leading  to  the  taproom.  The  long  chamber  was  crowded 
to  overflowing.  A  man,  near  the  bar,  was  trying  in  a  loud 
voice  to  make  himself  heard.  Most  of  the  others  were 
standing  round  the  fireplace,  drinking  country  ale,  scrap- 
ing mud  and  snow  from  their  cowhide  boots  and,  them- 
selves, shouting  in  a  way  that  made  it  quite  impossible  to 


i8  SANDY  FLASH 

understand  a  word.  As  Burgandine  slammed  the  door, 
there  was  a  momentary  pause.  The  farmer  from  Newlin 
was  instant  in  availing  himself  of  it. 

"Quick,  neighbors!"  he  cried,  "Get  what  guns  you 
can  and  help!  Sandy  Flash's  come  down  from  the  Valley! 
Held  me  up  this  very  morning  not  half  an  hour  gone.  Is 
Farmer  Evans  here  from  Marple?" 

"Sandy  Flash!"  The  words  roared  from  the  man  who 
had  been  speaking  as  they  entered.  "Sandy  Flash!  Man 
alive,  we've  just  lost  track  of  the  devil  after  the  hottest 
chase  that  ever  horse  laid  hoof  to  ground  in!  Raced  all 
the  way  from  Brandywine  to  Crum  Creek  crossing!  Saw 
him  last  by  White  Horse  hollow!  Did  you — what  did — " 
The  man  broke  off  with  a  bellow  like  a  bull  and  smashed 
his  fist  down  upon  the  bar  in  excitement.  A  glass  tumbler 
lost  balance  and  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  shatter  of  frag- 
ments, but  he  gave  no  heed. 

"The  villain  held  me  up,  I  tell  you,  in  Edgemont!  Just 
under  the  butt  of  Hunting  Hill!"  Burgandine  swung  up 
his  arm  for  silence.  "He  must  have  gotten  free  from  you 
and—" 

Amid  a  babble  of  voices  that  almost  deafened  them, 
Dave  and  Bob  listened  to  the  astounding  story.  It  was 
soon  told.  The  men,  farmers  from  Birmingham,  had  re- 
ceived word  that  the  hated  highwayman  was  in  their 
neighborhood.  Hastily  they  had  formed  a  posse  to  ride 
him  down.  Their  clue  had  been  good  and  they  had  suc- 
ceeded in  surrounding  the  wood  in  which  the  outlaw  lay 
bidden.  By  clever  horsemanship,  however,  the  man  had 
leaped  a  great  worm-fence  that  bound  the  covert  and  so 
escaped,  only  to  be  pursued  for  many  miles.  Not  far 


THE  CANDLESTICK  19 

from  White  Horse  in  Willistown,  he  had  eluded  them  as 
their  utterly  exhausted  horses  fell  far  behind  his  condi- 
tioned one.  Disheartened,  they  had  searched  about  here 
and  there,  until,  following  the  Goshen  Road,  to  the  east, 
they  had  dismounted  at  the  Pratt  House  Tavern  for  a 
rest  before  their  five  and  twenty  mile  ride  home.  The 
men  were  dog-tired  and  in  as  ugly  a  mood  as  well  could 
be.  The  story  of  Peter  Burgandine  did  not  tend  to  make 
them  any  calmer.  Threats  grew  loud  as  the  enraged  men 
plied  the  farmer  and  the  boys  with  questions.  First,  how- 
ever, they  explained  to  them  that  Jehu  Evans  had  not  yet 
come  to  the  inn. 

"We'll  teach  this  Sandy  Flash  to  tie  up  a  peaceable 
man !  A  tree  is  what  he  needs  himself,  a  good  stout  one 
with  a  noose  to  it!  That'd  flash  him,  once  and  for  all!" 
The  threat  came  from  the  big  fellow  who  seemed  to  be  in 
charge  of  the  posse.  As  he  made  it,  he  put  down  his 
tankard  and  tapped  a  brace  of  pistols  that  were  stuck 
handily  through  his  belt.  "Come  on,  men,  the  boys'll 
show  us  the  way.  Friend  Peter  has  had  enough  for  one 
morning!  Indian  Hannah,  by  Newlin's  Rock,  will  soon 
heal  his  welts  with  a  bit  of  her  herb  salve  when  he  gets 
home.  We'll  run  this  scare-cat  to  earth  like  the  sneaking 
fox  he  is.  One  round,  all  round,  of  the  good  old  brown 
October!  Has  everybody  finished?" 

"Not  quite,  sir!  Seein'  as  I've  not  begun  yet.  Rest  ye 
merry,  gentlemen  all ! "  The  door  swung  open  and  a  man 
entered  so  quietly  that  neither  Dave  and  Bob  were  aware 
of  his  presence  until  his  low-pitched  voice  had  shocked 
the  noisy  company  to  silence.  There  was  not  an  instant's 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  as  to  his  identity.  His  red 


20  SANDY  FLASH 

hair  told  that,  as  he  swung  off  his  great  black  hat  with  its 
scalloped  brim.  Sandy  Flash  had  little  need  of  an  intro- 
duction to  the  posse  that  had  been  chasing  him  from 
Birmingham  and  the  Brandywine,  at  risk  of  neck  and 
limb,  since  early  dawn. 

Nor  did  he  in  turn  seem  in  the  least  put  out  by  finding 
himself  in  their  midst.  Quite  unconcerned,  he  swung  the 
muzzle  of  his  old-fashioned,  brass-bound  pistol  round  the 
room  until  every  man  there  had  felt  it  boring  into  the  pit 
of  his  stomach  in  a  sickening  personal  sort  of  way.  It 
kept  them,  one  and  all,  standing  where  they  were.  That 
was  exactly  what  the  highwayman  had  counted  on — that 
strange,  contagious  fear  of  the  crowd  held  by  the  spell  of 
another's  iron  nerve. 

"That's  the  way,  me  hearties!"  He  smiled.  "Your 
hands  a  little  higher,  over  there.  You ! "  The  voice  steeled 
suddenly  and  the  man's  hands  shot  upward  toward  the 
raftered  smoke-stained  ceiling.  "That's  better.  A  jolly 
ride  enough,  we've  had!  It's  whetted  me  gullet,  for  a 
fact!" 

Sandy  Flash  motioned  sharply,  his  pistol  cuddled  close 
to  the  cape  over  his  right  arm.  The  crowded  room  in- 
stantly obeyed,  leaving  a  passageway  from  doorway  to 
the  bar.  Bob  Allyn  shrank  back  instinctively,  as  he  saw 
the  man's  burly  form  advancing.  Dave  was  shoved  into 
the  corner  by  the  backward  surge  of  the  crowd  against 
him.  Old  Peter  Burgandine  sucked  in  his  breath  with 
a  gasp  of  anger  and  surprise,  as  he  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot.  Calmly,  in  no  haste,  the  highwayman  strode  down 
that  roomful  of  armed  men,  every  one  of  whom,  with  the 
exception  of  the  farmer  from  Newlin  and  the  boys,  had 


THE  CANDLESTICK  21 

come  out  with  the  express  purpose  of  taking  or  killing 
him.  Each  waited  now  for  his  neighbor  to  make  the  first 
move.  They  waited  too  long. 

For  an  instant  only  was  the  outlaw's  back  toward  them. 
Then  he  swung  about  just  in  time  to  sweep  the  swaying 
forms  to  control  once  more  with  his  menacing  pistol.  He 
had  won;  they  knew  it.  The  rest  was  easy.  Facing  them, 
he  reached  backward  along  the  bar  for  a  jug  of  apple 
brandy.  With  his  left  hand  he  filled  an  empty  glass  and 
drained  it  as  though  he  were  drinking  a  toast  at  his  own 
table.  No  one  moved.  No  one  spoke. 

"Gentlemen,  all!  To  our  next!  It  beats  huntin'  the 
fox!"  He  flung  the  glass  in  shivering  fragments  on  the 
sanded  floor.  "May  she  end  for  us  both  as  sportin'  a 
frolic  as  this!  Rest  ye  merry!" 

Sandy  Flash  crossed  the  room  toward  the  door,  this 
time  keeping  the  men  covered  carefully  as  he  moved.  He 
knew  well  that  even  cowed  men  cannot  be  goaded  too  far, 
once  they  have  begun  to  collect  their  wits.  At  the  en- 
trance he  paused.  Reaching  under  his  long  cloak,  he 
drew  out  a  second  pistol  from  his  belt,  cocked  the  flint- 
lock with  a  snap  and  broke  into  a  laugh.  Then  he  shook 
his  first  weapon  free  from  the  fold  of  the  cape  and  tossed 
it  across  the  room  toward  the  fireplace.  It  struck  the  floor 
with  a  bang  and  clicked  against  an  andiron,  like  a  smith's 
hammer  on  a  forge.  A  man  cried  out  sharply.  Dave 
stretched  on  tiptoe  the  better  to  see.  The  weapon  ceased 
rocking  to  and  fro  and  lay  twinkling  on  the  stone-flagged 
hearth,  touched  to  fire  by  a  shaft  of  light  from  a  window. 
It  was  a  well-burnished  candlestick  of  brass ! 

The  outlaw  in  pure  bravado  had  held  up  the  posse  with 


22  SANDY  FLASH 

a  candlestick.  An  empty  candlestick,  its  butt  concealed 
beneath  his  cloak!  He  had  picked  it  up  from  the  hall 
table  of  the  inn  before  entering  the  taproom.  Again  he 
laughed,  real  merriment  in  his  tone. 

Peter  Burgandine  could  stand  no  more.  The  old  man 
broke  from  the  crowd  with  a  shout  and  leaped,  bare- 
handed, toward  the  door.  He  was  a  foot  too  late.  The 
jamb  shook  as  the  heavy  oaken  panels  slammed  to  and  the 
key  turned  in  the  lock.  Willing  helpers  rushed  forward 
and  the  stout  old  boards  strained  under  the  combined 
weight  of  their  shoulders,  but  galloping  hoof  beats  told 
them  they  were  wasting  their  strength.  As  they  burst 
through  the  shattered  planks,  Sandy  Flash  disappeared 
round  a  bend  in  Newtown  Road  to  the  north,  waving  his 
hand  in  ironic  farewell. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  TRAPS 

THE  next  five  minutes  at  the  Pratt  House  would  be 
hard  to  describe.  It  was  Bedlam  on  the  rampage. 
Bedlam  with  a  temper  worn  thin  by  failure,  weariness  and 
disgust  at  its  own  stupidity.  The  boys  and  Burgandine 
were  tossed  aside  by  the  rush,  as  the  men  from  Birming- 
ham crushed  past  them  through  the  broken  doorway. 
There  was  a  wild  scramble  at  the  horse  rail.  Each  man 
tried  to  get  his  mount  untied  first  until  amid  kicks  and 
oaths  and  a  cracking  of  whip  thongs,  the  posse  got  under 
way  and  galloped  north.  It  looked  like  a  vain  pursuit. 

"That  horse  of  his  can  lead  'em  a  mile!  I  say,  did  you 
see  his  stride?"  Bob  gazed  after  the  last  of  the  men  as 
they  swept  round  the  bend  toward  the  Leopard  Tavern. 
"He's  way  ahead  already!" 

"I  hope  they  shoot  him  dead,"  Peter  Burgandine  spoke 
solemnly.  "Lads,  there's  such  a  thing  as  law  and  order. 
That  murdering  scoundrel  has  set  authority  at  naught 
within  the  county.  'T  would  be  a  blessing  if  the  men 
could  catch  him  and  chain  him  in  the  gaol!" 

"I  only  wish  I'd  gotten  hold  of  a  horse!"  Bob  sighed. 
"It's  just  like  my  luck  to  miss  a  chase  like  this.  I  reckon 
they'll  gallop  twenty  miles  before  they're  through.  Oh, 
well,  can't  help  it  now,  so  there's  an  end  to  it! " 

"How  about  the  traps?"  Dave,  seeing  the  excitement 

23 


24  SANDY  FLASH 

had  ended  as  far  as  they  were  concerned,  began  to  recall 
the  work  they  had  set  out  to  do.  "I  think  we'd  just  as 
well  start  back  and  set  a  few  by  Hunting  Hill  where  we 
dropped  'em." 

Bob  reluctantly  agreed.  Before  they  turned  toward 
home,  however,  the  innkeeper  came  out  of  the  door  with  an 
invitation  that  they  join  Peter  Burgandine  in  the  kitchen 
and  eat  a  bite  of  dinner.  Both  boys  accepted  eagerly,  be- 
ginning to  realize  for  the  first  time  how  far  they  had 
tramped  since  breakfast  and  how  long  ago  it  was  that  they 
had  eaten.  While  the  good  wife  bustled  about  and  set  be- 
fore them  two  platters  heaped  with  boiled  beef  and  cab- 
bage and  flanked  with  a  great  bowl  of  sassafras  tea,  the 
host  showed  them  a  secret  chamber  where  he  was  busily 
hiding  what  spare  coin  and  silver  he  had  in  the  inn.  The 
room  was  underground,  a  sort  of  dungeon  reached  through 
the  floor  of  the  kitchen  closet. 

To  tell  the  truth,  however,  Dave  and  Bob  were  more 
intent  on  the  steaming,  wholesome  food  before  them  than 
they  were  on  the  raising  of  the  floor  board  and  the  lower- 
ing of  the  ladder.  Little  did  either  of  them  dream  of  the 
part  that  same  hidden  chamber  was  to  play  in  their  lives. 
Had  they  any  way  of  looking  into  the  future,  they  would 
have  forgotten  their  plates  and  gone  down  the  opening 
with  the  innkeeper,  as  he  carried  his  valuables  below. 
When  he  had  finished  the  work,  Peter  Burgandine  drew 
up  the  lantern  he  had  been  holding  at  the  end  of  a  rope. 
The  farmer  extinguished  the  candle  in  it  and  came  over 
to  join  the  lads  at  table.  He  was  full  of  the  doings  of 
Sandy  Flash  and  only  too  glad  to  share  them  with  his  ex- 
cited audience  while  they  topped  off  their  meal  with  slabs 


THE  TRAPS  25 

of  wheaten  bread  dipped  in  treacle.  Dave  and  Bob  were 
good  trenchermen  always.  Their  hearty  country  appetites 
soon  began  to  make  an  impression  on  the  heaped-up 
platter. 

"They  tell  a  great  tale  of  how  he  gave  the  slip  to  a  pair 
of  soldiers,  come  up  from  Wilmington  for  to  take  him," 
said  Burgandine,  spreading  his  treacle  on  his  slice  of 
bread.  "It  was  last  summer,  before  he'd  gone  to  the  hills. 
I  heard  Neighbor  Passmore  speak  of  it.  He  ought  to 
know,  as  it  happened  right  on  his  farm  in  West  Marl- 
borough.  Sandy  Flash  was  working  there  one  day,  mow- 
ing in  a  field,  after  he'd  run  off  the  second  time  from  the 
army.  It  wasn't  far  from  the  tenant  house  where  his 
mother  lives — a  nice  enough  old  Irish  woman  she  is,  too, 
according  to  John.  The  two  soldiers  knew  him  from  his 
red  hair  and  they  got  him  covered  before  he  saw  them. 
The  sly  rascal!  He  gave  up  like  a  suckling  lamb,  only 
begging  them  the  favor  of  bidding  a  good-by  to  his  old 
mother  and  fetching  a  coat  for  to  cover  himself  with. 
They  marched  him  up  before  'em  to  the  house.  Just  as 
he  steps  inside  he  grabs  his  gun  which  he  always  kept 
handy  behind  the  door.  Then  he  swung  on  those  two 
white-livered  cowards  and  threatened  to  blow  their  brains 
galley  west  on  the  doorstep,  as  the  jack  tars  have  it! 
They  ran!  What  do  you  suppose  Sandy  did?"  Bur- 
gandine chuckled  in  spite  of  himself.  "He  went  back  to 
his  mowing!  That  he  did." 

"Who's  the  other  fellow — the  one  they  talked  about  in 
the  reward?"  Bob's  mind  had  been  turning  over  each  de- 
tail with  true  Scotch  deliberation.  He  began  to  devour 
another  great  hunk  of  bread. 


26  SANDY  FLASH 

"Dougherty,  I  think  it  was,"  said  Dave,  who  always 
had  a  knack  at  recalling  names. 

"Yes,  that's  it,  I'd  know  Mordecai  Dougherty  the  min- 
ute I  set  eyes  on  him.  He  comes  from  Nathan  Hayes' 
farm  at  Doe  Run.  Seen  him  there  many  a  time,"  Peter 
Burgandine's  voice  was  bitter.  "I've  often  heard  of  Sandy 
Flash  at  Passmore's,  but  never  just  happened  to  come 
across  him  face  to  face.  Dougherty's  a  dangerous  scoun- 
drel, but  Flash's  got  the  brains.  More's  the  pity ! " 

A  few  minutes  later  the  lads  finished  their  meal  and 
with  many  thanks  to  the  innkeeper  and  his  wife,  prepared 
to  take  their  departure,  leaving  the  farmer  from  Newlin 
still  engrossed  in  his  recent  experience.  What  had  be- 
come of  his  horse,  he  did  not  know. 

Luck  favored  the  boys,  however,  for  just  as  they  were 
bidding  Burgandine  farewell,  up  drove  Jehu  Evans,  the 
belated  cattleman,  in  a  sledge. 

"In  with  you,  Peter,  and  we'll  drive  down  the  Stras- 
burg  Road!"  cried  the  newcomer.  "That  horse  of  yours 
must  be  on  it  somewhere  and  we'll  save  the  money  yet. 
Going  that  way,  past  Edgemont,  boys?  Want  a  carry?" 

It  was  a  tight  squeeze,  for  sledges,  as  they  were  called, 
were  small  in  those  days  to  fit  the  narrow,  winding  lanes 
that  passed  for  roads,  but  soon  the  two  men  were  in  the 
seat,  while  the  lads  caught  foothold,  one  on  either  runner. 
Evans  clicked  to  the  horse  and  away  they  went,  Dave  and 
Bob  calling  their  thanks  to  the  landlord  on  the  steps  of 
the  inn.  It  was  a  jolting,  uncertain  ride,  at  best,  for  them, 
but  the  excitement  of  the  morning  had  roused  their  spirits 
and  each  counted  it  a  merry  lark. 

In  half  an  hour  they  had  left  the  men  and  were  back 


THE  TRAPS  27 

at  the  spot  where  they  had  dropped  their  traps  on  hearing 
Burgandine's  cry  for  help.  It  seemed  an  age  had  passed, 
rather  than  a  couple  of  hours,  since  that  alarm  had  come 
to  them.  Dave  was  soon  bending  over  the  coon  trail  in 
the  snow. 

"A  coon  sure  does  like  corn,  the  Indian  maize,  just  as 
you  said,  Bob,  and  apples,  too.  They  come  up  close  to 
our  house,  sometimes,  and  eat  the  windfalls.  Even  climb 
trees  after  good  ones.  They  chew  up  a  lot  of  lizards  and 
bugs,  as  well.  A  man  once  told  me  they'd  kill  birds, 
fledglings,  I  mean,  and  eat  eggs  quick  as  a  wink;  when 
they  could  get  'em." 

"I  reckon  they  will.  Father  says  they'll  eat  fish  and 
frogs.  Most  all  animals  fill  in  on  things  easier  to  get, 
though — berries  and  worms  and  stuff  that  they  can  find 
most  anywhere." 

"Yes,  and  nuts,  don't  forget  them.  Those  are  the 
things  I  always  try  most  to  find  out.  The  more  a  fellow 
knows  of  what  animals  eat,  why,  the  easier  it  is  to  trap  'em. 
Many  a  time  I've  walked  all  day  in  the  woods  just  to 
make  sure  of  something  that  might  come  in  handy  later 
on  when  pelts  were  prime.  Once  I  saw  a  coon  eating 
honey!  They  like  that  best  of  all,  when  they  come  on 
.some  old  bee  tree  full  of  it.  You'd  never  think  now — " 

"I  say,  Davey!  You  surely  are  a  queer  one!  Snooping 
round  by  yourself  like  any  old  broody  hen,  yet  you've  got 
a  plan  to  it  all  the  time! "  Bob  laughed  good-naturedly  at 
his  chum,  then  stood  up.  "Well,  let's  get  to  work.  I'm 
dead  tired!  Let  me  be  the  trapper  this  time.  I'll  put  one 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  trail  here  and  cover  it  with 
leaves.  I  mean  a  bit  further  along  where  we've  not  tram- 


28  SANDY  FLASH 

pled  round  it.  Bet  this  is  a  regular  coon  path  like  the — " 
"It's  a  path  all  right,  but  you'll  never  see  hair  nor  hide 
of  coon  if  you  go  about  it  that  way,"  Dave  chuckled  at 
the  mistake  of  his  husky  companion.  "You  may  know 
horses  and  be  able  to  ride  'em  over  fences,  but  you're  a 
mighty  poor  sort  of  woodsman,,  Bob,  I'd  say.  A  coon's 
clever  as  a  fox,  most,  in  some  ways,  stupid  as  any  old 
hen  in  others.  I  used  to  put  traps  in  their  trails  and  I 
never  caught  one  like  that  yet.  They  always  go  round 
it  somehow  or  other.  Just  like  a  fellow  can  hardly  ever 
trick  'em  with  a  deadfall.  Watch  here." 

Dave  lost  no  time  in  putting  his  woodcraft  to  work. 
Bob  Allyn  threw  down  his  heavy  bundle  of  traps  to  lend  a 
willing  hand.  Together  the  boys  soon  were  hard  at  it, 
making  the  coon  sets,  all  thought  of  the  highwayman  far 
from  their  minds.  Getting  a  line  on  where  the  path  led 
down  through  the  forest  toward  the  west  bank  of  Ridley 
was  a  simple  matter,  for  the  tracks  showed  up  readily 
enough  in  the  light  snow.  By  good  chance,  the  bushes  and 
trees  had  not  yet  begun  to  shake  off  their  silvery  burden 
and  thus  pock  the  ground  confusingly  as  always  happens 
after  a  snowfall  of  this  kind. 

Dave's  next  move  was  to  seek  out  a  couple  of  rotting 
logs,  fair-sized  ones,  yet  such  as  he  and  Bob  could  move 
handily.  This  did  not  call  for  a  very  long  search,  as  the 
woodland  had  been  partially  cut  over  many  years  before 
and  small  logs  were  to  be  found  lying  about  in  the  brush. 
The  boys  lugged  these  logs  to  the  trail  and  threw  them 
across  it  at  right  angles,  taking  care  not  to  step  on  the 
trail  itself,  but  to  work  from  both  sides  of  it.  They 


THE  TRAPS  29 

dropped  the  logs  about  twenty  yards  apart.  Then  Dave 
made  ready  his  traps. 

The  laa  had  never  seen  the  improved  steel  ones  of  to- 
day, but  those  that  he  did  have  were  workmanlike  and 
handy  for  all  that.  Of  iron,  with  crude,  though  powerful, 
steel  springs,  they  had  been  made  at  the  log  smithy  on 
the  road  to  Nether  Providence,  where  the  blacksmith  had 
hammered  them  out  on  the  anvil  under  the  direction  of  a 
woodsman  who  had  taken  an  interest  in  the  boy's  love  of 
the  open.  The  traps  were  very  good,  some  of  them  quite 
like  the  best  designs  of  the  present  in  essential  parts. 
Dave  was  especially  proud  of  an  arrangement  on  a  few  of 
them  whereby  the  jaws  were  able  to  close  upon  an  ani- 
mal's leg  in  two  places,  thus  making  it  almost  impossible 
for  the  foot  to  be  gnawed  off,  as  happens  so  often  with  ill- 
made  traps.  There  was  also  a  sort  of  metal  lug  on  the 
jaw  of  some  of  them  which  the  boy  was  trying  out  with  a 
view  to  prevent  this  same  thing.  All  in  all,  the  woodsman 
had  done  his  work  well,  seconded  by  the  smith,  and  Dave 
was  fortunate,  indeed,  to  be  the  owner  of  a  set  of  traps 
that  were  considerably  ahead  of  the  rough  ones  in  use 
about  the  countryside  of  Providence  and  Edgemont  at 
that  time. 

A  trap,  one  of  medium  size,  perhaps  four  or  five  inches 
across,  was  carefully  set  at  the  end  of  the  log,  lengthways 
— that  is,  its  jaws  running  in  the  same  direction  as  the  log. 
The  boys  then  covered  the  metal  lightly  with  leaves  and 
a  sprinkling  of  snow.  One  log  had  rotted  away  a  good 
deal  at  the  end  and  here  a  trap  was  hidden  just  within 
the  trunk  itself  and  covered  with  a  handful  of  rotten, 


30  SANDY  FLASH 

punky  wood  dust.  The  iron  chains  were  also  covered  with 
snow  after  having  been  fastened  securely  to  the  logs  or 
nearby  trees.  The  sets  were  made  in  as  short  a  time  as 
it  takes  to  tell  it.  The  boys  picked  up  their  other  traps 
and  walked  through  the  woodland  that  grew  down  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  stream  on  their  right.  In  spite  of  their 
delay  with  Burgandine  and  Sandy  Flash,  they  were  de- 
termined to  carry  the  trap  line  up  Ridley  at  least  as  far 
as  the  end  of  Hunting  Hill.  That  had  been  their  original 
plan  when  they  had  left  home  early  in  the  morning.  As 
they  went  along  they  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  signs.  It 
would  not  do  to  pass  by  any  likely  places  for  a  set.  The 
woods  were  stark  and  bare  in  midwinter  bleakness,  yet 
so  thick  was  the  forest  of  chestnut,  oak  and  ash,  poplar, 
beech  and  maple,  that  one  could  not  see  very  far  in  any 
direction.  Dave  led  the  way,  his  eyes  searching  keenly 
here  and  there  among  the  trees.  By  the  brookside  the 
leafless  alders  and  dogwood  made  it  hard  to  see  the  bank, 
but  the  boys  were  patient  and  worked  their  way  along 
carefully. 

"What  was  the  good  of  throwing  those  logs  across  the 
trail?"  asked  Bob,  after  a  long  pause.  "I'd  think  the 
traps  could  have  been  set  just  as  well  in  the  place  where 
the  coon  had  walked.  They'll  come  back  there  again, 
like  as  not.  They  often  do." 

He  had  been  pondering  over  this  part  of  the  set  ever 
since  he  had  helped  Dave  carry  the  logs  and  lay  the 
traps.  Unable  to  solve  the  mystery,  his  painstaking  mind 
would  not  let  the  matter  drop.  The  boy  wanted  to  know; 
the  why  of  everything. 

"Coons  are  queer  things.     They're  like  the  Indians 


THE  TRAPS  31 

father  used  to  see  when  he  was  a  boy,  camping  by  the 
Cathcart  Rock  in  Willistown.  You  know,  where  the  great 
meadow  is.  They  never  walk  over  a  thing  if  they  can  go 
round  it.  Coons  don't,  nor  redskins  either,"  answered 
Dave.  "They  like  to  find  a  hollow  log,  if  they  can,  and 
crawl  into  it.  Maybe  they  get  worms  or  grubs  there.  I 
don't  know.  Anyhow,  that's  what  they  do.  If  a  coon 
comes  along  the  trail  back  yonder,  going  down  to  water, 
he'll  go  sniffing  and  snuffing  along  to  the  end  of  the  log,  to 
see  if  it's  hollow.  We'll  catch  him  sure  as  you  please  if  he 
does.  The  trap  in  the  hollow  end  is  the  best,  but  the  others 
just  at  the  ends  are  mighty  good,  too.  And  mind  you, 
never  set  crossways  to  a  path  or  hole  or  trail.  The  jaws  of 
the  trap  don't  close  fair  and  square,  that  way.  Set  'em 
lengthways."  Bob  cannily  stored  this  information  away  in 
his  mind  for  future  use.  Clearly  there  was  a  good  deal 
more  to  this  trapping  game  than  just  tramping  about  in 
the  cold  carrying  a  lot  of  heavy  traps  and  chains  and 
things.  Incidentally,  Bob  needed  some  pelts  as  well  as 
Dave.  Pelts  meant  money.  With  enough  of  them,  he 
might  be  able  to  save  up  toward  a  new  saddle.  There 
was  another  long  pause,  then  Bob  spoke  again. 

"Say,  Davey,  how  much  do  you  think  we'll  be  able  to 
get  for  our  pelts  this  year?  I  guess  it  all  depends  on  how 
many  we  catch  and  how  good  they  are,  doesn't  it?  Pity 
we  didn't  begin  regular  trapping  like  this  last  year." 

"They  always  want  good  skins,  the  men  that  buy  for 
the  towns.  Some  regular  trappers  make  a  fortune,  most, 
selling  to  'em  but  they're  lots  further  back  in  the  woods 
than  we  could  go,  those  real  trappers.  Over  at  the  inn  at 
Newtown  Square,  they'll  buy  pelts  from  us,  though.  AIL 


32  SANDY  FLASH 

we  can  get  hold  of.  I  was  talking  to  the  landlord  there 
about  it,  when  you  were  busy  with  Burgandine.  He  said 
he'd  gladly  take  our  furs  and  pay  us  best  he  could  for  the 
good  ones.  When  I  asked  what  kind  fetched  the  most, 
he  said  beaver  and  otter.  But  they're  hard  to  find  as  an 
eel's  foot!"  Dave  laughed,  then  spoke  more  seriously 
again.  "Let's  get  to  work  and  catch  an  otter.  There  must 
be  some  of  'em  left  hereabouts,  I'll  bet.  And  we  might 
even  get  a  beaver,  if  we  tried  hard  enough  to  find  their 
dam.  An  otter's  the  hardest  of  them  all  to  trap,  though. 
Come  on!  My!  If  it  wasn't  war  time,  we  could  make 
lots  of  money."  The  boys  moved  off  in  silence. 

Hunting  Hill  in  Edgemont  was  a  good  way  from  home, 
but  Bob  had  agreed  to  ride  over  on  his  horse  from  Syca- 
more Mills  now  and  then  during  the  week  days  to  look 
at  the  trap  line  there,  with  the  understanding  that  the 
pelts  won  be  divided  equally  between  him  and  his  chum. 
Dave's  share  in  the  work  lay  in  overseeing  the  setting  of 
the  line  and  visiting  it  on  weekends  when  he,  too,  could 
be  spared  from  farm  chores. 

The  lads  soon  left  the  coon  sets  behind,  working  a  short 
distance  down-stream.  Then  they  turned  back  and  ap- 
proached a  sweep  in  Ridley  where  the  waters  swung 
through  a  meadow  that  sloped  up  to  the  winter  skyline 
on  their  left.  The  trees  rose  sharply  across  the  clearing, 
covering  to  its  very  top  a  high  cone-shaped  hill.  The 
height  was  nearly  an  eighth  of  a  mile  away.  The  waters 
of  Ridley,  six  or  seven  yards  in  width,  swept  round  the 
base  of  it.  That  was  the  goal  of  their  trapping — Hunt- 
ing Hill  in  Edgemont,  known  from  the  days  of  the  Lenni- 
Lenape  Indians  as  a  covert  for  game.  On  the  summit  of 


THE  TRAPS  33 

the  same  eminence  they  had  rescued  Peter  Burgandine 
that  very  morning.  Neither  boy  had  thought  for  that 
now,  however. 

Dave  had  never  trapped  in  this  neighborhood  before, 
although  he  had  trudged  over  the  hill  on  the  west  bank 
of  Ridley  many  times  and  found  game  signs  aplenty. 
His  dark  eyes  began  to  glow  with  that  sharp,  keen  passion 
of  the  chase  that  had  come  down  to  him  from  the  mists  of 
the  past — a  heritage  of  unconquered  generations  who  had 
stalked  and  hunted  for  their  livelihood  on  the  hills  of  far- 
off  Wales.  There  was  nothing  moody  about  him  now. 
Even  Bob,  familiar  as  he  was  with  his  chum's  ways,  could 
not  fail  to  notice  the  eagerness  that  began  to  set  the 
younger  lad  a-quiver. 

"Bet  I  find  signs  before  you  do,  Bob,"  whispered  the 
excited  boy,  lowering  his  voice  unconsciously,  as  though 
he  were  stalking.  "Bet  I  do !  I  know  I  will  because — " 

"Should  think  you  might,  seeing  you  tramped  over  this 
way  just  before  the  snow.  I  say,  Dave,  you're  keen  as 
mustard,  all  right,  when  it  comes  to  trapping.  Puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  terrier  after  a  rat!  Must  be  lots  of  game  here; 
it's  wild  enough.  See  all  those  rabbit  tracks  criss-cross- 
ing? And  look  at  that  big  hawk  yonder !  There  it  goes 
into  the  wood!"  Bob  Allyn  pointed  ahead  to  where  the 
brook  disappeared  in  the  forest  at  the  foot  of  Hunting 
Hill.  The  great  roving  bird  of  prey  glided  from  view, 
uttering  the  shrill  challenge  of  its  kind — the  questing  call 
of  a  hawk. 

Dave  did  not  answer.  The  boy  had  suddenly  come  to 
a  halt,  gazing  at  a  patch  of  briers  close  at  hand.  Bob, 
noting  the  action,  froze  stockstill  beside  him,  thinking  his 


34  SANDY  FLASH 

companion  had  sighted  game.  Though  they  had  no  guns 
along,  the  traps  being  heavy  enough  as  it  was,  yet  it 
would  be  fine  sport  to  stalk  a  bit  just  for  practice,  if  they 
came  close  enough  upon  anything  worth  while. 

Following  Dave's  gaze,  the  older  boy  could  detect  noth- 
ing. The  open  meadow  lay  before  them;  the  little  clump 
of  thorns  and  greenbriers  stood  bare  against  the  back- 
ground of  snow.  Bob  waited  while  Dave  ran  forward  a 
few  steps.  Then  he  followed. 

"I  say,  Dave!    What  in  the  world  ails  you?" 

"Nothing.  Thought  that  sapling  looked  sprung,  bu£ 
there's  nothing  on  it."  Dave's  voice  showed  ill-covered 
disappointment.  "This  is  where  I  made  that  rabbit  snare 
I  was  telling  you  of,  Bob.  I  saw  it'd  been  sprung  as  soon 
as  we  came  out  of  the  Woods  and  I  wanted  to  see  how 
close  you'd  come  to  it  before  you  saw  the  rabbit."  He 
broke  off  with  a  dry  laugh.  "But  there  wasn't  any  rabbit ! 
He  must  have  touched  it  and  gotten  away.  Look  at  the 
snow  all  knocked  off  the  bushes?  I  tried  awfully  hard  to 
make  a  good  snare,  too.  Right  in  a  regular  rabbit  run 
through  these  briers.  See  the  tracks  everywhere?"  He 
reached  up  to  examine  the  dangling  loop. 

"Oh,  well,  a  fellow  can't  make  a  catch  every  time. 
Just  like  breaking  a  colt.  Takes  a  deal  of  patience, 
Davey.  Let's  set  it  again  and  go  on,"  consoled  Bob. 
"That  otter  and  beaver  business  sounds  pretty  well  worth 
while  to  me.  I've  been  thinking  it  over  all  along  through 
the  woods.  If  we  could  get  an  otter,  it'd  be  better  than 
all  the  rabbits  from  Edgemont  to  Chichester!  I'm  going 
to  try  for  one,  anyway."  He  watched  Dave  as  the  latter 
rapidly  set  the  rabbit  snare  in  place. 


THE  TRAPS  35 

"You're  right  about  the  pelts.  A  rabbit  skin  isn't 
worth  a  fippeny  bit  for  anything  I  know  of,"  said  Dave, 
"but  it  takes  skill  to  snare  'em  just  the  same  and  we  can 
use  all  the  meat  we  can  get.  You  don't  suppose  I'd  trap 
at  all,  do  you,  if  we  didn't  need  the  food  and  the  hides?" 
Dave  worked  at  the  trap  among  the  briers.  "That's  why 
I  wanted  to  get  one  in  a  sapling  snare  to-day.  I've  often 
got  'em  that  way  before.  Fresh  rabbit  is  mighty  good, 
when  my  mother  broils  it,  I  can  tell  you!" 

As  he  was  speaking,  the  boy  bent  down  the  tough, 
springy  young  hickory  and  cleverly  fastened  its  top  close 
to  the  ground  with  a  couple  of  forked  sticks  set  so  that 
when  one  of  them  was  moved  at  all  it  released  the  other 
and  allowed  the  sapling  to  spring  upright.  The  noose 
made  fast  to  the  hickory,  was  a  simple  affair  of  thin  hair- 
woven  cord  amazingly  tough,  so  spread  that  when  the 
tree  sprang,  the  loop  would  instantly  draw  tight  about 
the  neck  or  body  of  the  animal  that  had  caused  the  sticks 
to  fall  and  the  trap  to  be  sprung.  Dave  set  this  cord  loop 
carefully  in  an  opening  between  the  briers.  Then  he 
twisted  a  few  thorn  sticks  so  as  to  block  the  other  open- 
ings on  either  side.  The  working  of  the  rabbit  snare  was 
not  unlike  the  well-known  figure  4  trap,  only  instead  of 
a  box  or  deadfall,  the  moving  of  the  sticks  resulted  in  the 
freeing  of  the  tree.  For  bait,  Dave  stuck  a  small  apple 
on  the  trigger  stick.  He  had  brought  it  along  in  his  pocket 
for  this  very  purpose.  As  he  finished  the  work  and 
straightened  up  from  the  runway,  he  heard  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise  from  Bob,  who  had  been  following  the 
maze  of  tracks  about  in  the  snow,  while  he  had  been  busy 
with  the  apple. 


36  SANDY  FLASH 

"I  say!  There's  been  more  than  cottontails  round  here, 
Dave,  and  not  so  long  ago  at  that!  See  here! "  Bob  was 
on  his  knees  pointing  to  a  little  patch  of  snow  that  lay 
cupped  in  a  hollow  between  two  outcropping  rocks.  "If 
that's  not  the  mark  of  a  boot,  plain  as  White  Horse  Hill 
on  a  clear  day,  I'll  miss  my  guess.  What  did — " 

"It  sure  is."  Dave  was  crouching,  on  the  instant,  low 
beside  his  comrade,  scanning  the  unmistakable  outline  of 
a  heavy  heel.  "But  where's  the  rest  of  the  trail?  There's 
snow  all  about." 

"That's  just  what  puzzled  me  while  you  were  fixing  the 
bait.  I  saw  this  was  a  footmark  all  right  and  I  knew  you 
couldn't  have  made  it  in  your  moccasins  last  time  you 
were  here.  Do  you  think — " 

"Sandy  Flash!"  Dave  leaped  to  his  feet.  "He  might 
have—" 

"No,  couldn't  be  the  highwayman."  The  older  boy's 
voice  was  tense  with  excitement  in  spite  of  the  calmness 
he  tried  to  put  in  it.  "He  couldn't  very  well  be  here  and 
up  with  Burgandine  at  the  same  time.  And  we  were  close 
by  just  before  that,  you  know.  I  thought  of  Sandy  Flash 
first  thing  till  I  saw  it  couldn't  be.  It  might — " 

"Where's  the  rest  of  the  trail?  It  doesn't  seem  to  lead 
anywhere — "  Dave  eyed  the  mark. 

"But  there  isn't  any  more  to  it.  That's  the  puzzle!" 
Bob  swung  his  arm  in  a  circle.  "I  say!  Not  a  sign!" 

Dave's  answer  was  to  jump  to  his  feet  and  to  look  about 
him  with  a  roving  sort  of  glance  that  would  have  delighted 
the  heart  of  a  woodsman  in  that  it  quartered  the  ground 
systematically  for  all  its  quickness.  He  did  not  need  much 
backwoods  skill  to  read  the  story  of  that  footprint,  once 


THE  TRAPS  37 

the  beginning  of  it  had  been  found.  Step  by  step  he  fol- 
lowed it  up,  as  the  full  meaning  of  the  legend  unraveled. 
Bob  had  failed  to  trace  it,  mostly  because  he  had  searched 
too  near  the  lone  print  rather  than  casting  wide  to  pick 
it  up  further  away  from  the  snare.  At  the  edge  of  the 
brook  the  tracks  disappeared,  but  a  line  of  boulder  step- 
ping stones,  clean  of  snow,  showed  a  way  across  to  the 
wooded  bank  on  the  other  side.  The  boy  paused,  un- 
certainly. 

"I  did  have  a  rabbit  in  that  snare!  Sure  as  can  be  I 
did,  this  very  morning!"  Dave  spoke  sharply,  his  sud- 
den anger  flaring  quick,  as  he  took  in  the  signs  before 
him.  "Some  poaching  thief  has  seen  it  and  robbed  my 
set!  Let's  follow  back  again  to  the  snare  and  see  if  we 
can  make  any  more  out  of  it.  I'd  say  it  was  Sandy  Flash 
in  a  jiffy,  if  it  weren't  we'd  seen  him  at  the  inn  and  knew 
he  was  with  old  Peter  right  after  he  got  away  from  those 
men." 

At  the  end  of  fifteen  minutes  little  more  had  been  dis- 
covered. The  footmarks  here  and  there  among  the  rocks 
showed  that  a  man,  evidently  wearing  boots,  had  come 
down  stream  from  the  direction  of  Hunting  Hill.  On  near- 
ing  the  snare,  he  must  have  noticed  it,  as  his  tracks  in  the 
snow  showed  that  he  had  come  to  a  halt.  Both  boys 
could  see  that  clearly,  as  the  signs  were  plain  at  this  point. 
So  far  the  trail  had  been  easy,  but  it  was  a  good  twenty 
yards  nearer  the  creek  than  the  clump  of  briers  that  hid 
the  clever  rabbit  loop.  From  the  place  where  he  had 
stopped,  the  man  had  used  some  care  in  avoiding  leaving 
a  trail  as  he  approached  the  set — an  easy  matter  enough, 
for  the  ground  was  littered  with  stones  and  boulders 


38  SANDY  FLASH 

blown  free  from  the  dry,  powdery  snow.  He  had  simply 
stepped  from  one  to  the  other  until  he  had  reached  the 
sapling,  then  having  removed  the  rabbit,  he  must  have 
gone  back  to  his  original  path  near  the  brook  and  thence 
crossed  over  on  the  stepping  stones  placed  there  at  hazard 
by  nature. 

"Somebody's  poached  my  snare  all  right.  It's  plain 
in  the  snow  as  if  he'd  left  us  a  letter  telling  how  he  did  it! " 
Dave  stopped  disconsolately  on  the  bank  pushing  hunks 
of  snow  into  the  water  with  his  foot.  "I  just  knew  there'd 
be  a  rabbit  in  that  loop.  I  counted  on  him  for  dinner! 
It'd  be  fresh  as  a  daisy,  too!  If  he  finds  the  other  sets, 
the  whole  trap  line'll  be  done  for.  Any  one  low  enough 
to  rob—" 

"Who  do  you  think  it  could  be,  seeing  as  we've  counted 
Flash  out  of  it?  Would  any  of  the  fellows  from  Provi- 
dence way  or  Springfield  be  mean  enough  to  follow  you 
up  and — " 

Small  good  it  did  the  angry  trappers  to  guess.  The 
proof  was  there  that  the  snare  had  been  pilfered,  but  who 
was  the  poacher  and  how  long  he  had  been  gone  were 
questions  that  could  not  be  answered.  It  was  already  ap- 
proaching evening.  They  had  other  sets  to  make  before 
hurrying  home  to  chores  and  supper,  so  the  boys,  in  disap- 
pointment, turned  once  more  toward  Hunting  Hill. 

Their  luck  changed  quickly  for  the  better  once  they  had 
entered  the  denser  woodland  of  the  covert.  This  time  it 
was  Bob  who  first  saw  tracks  worth  scanning.  Glancing 
about  a  rocky  slope  that  rose  a  score  of  yards  above  the 
brook,  he  spied  a  broad  trail,  wide  apart,  equidistant, 
leading  upward  among  the  beeches.  He  was  climbing 


THE  TRAPS  39 

toward  it  almost  before  he  had  time  to  point  it  out  to 
Dave.  The  fever  of  the  woodsman  was  getting  into  his 
blood,  too,  and  spurring  him  on.  There  could  be  no  mis- 
taking that  track.  Even  Bob  Allyn,  untrained  in  the 
ways  of  the  wild,  knew  that  few  animals  aside  from  the 
skunk,  dared  walk  so  boldly  and  unconcerned  as  went 
that  line  of  steps  up  the  hillside.  The  prints  of  the  feet 
were  not  very  large,  almost  triangular  in  shape,  with  the 
five  toes  forming  a  perfect  semicircle.  Earthy  scratch- 
ings  through  the  light  snow  showed  where  the  skunk  had 
sought  worms  among  the  roots,  but  evidently  there  had 
been  too  much  frost  to  keep  him  very  long  at  work  in 
search  of  his  favorite  summer  provender. 

Dave  spotted  the  hole  first,  close  by  the  roots  of  a  huge 
beech  tree.  Eagerly  he  pointed  it  out  to  the  slower  climb- 
ing lad  who  was  not  finding  it  so  easy  as  his  lighter  com- 
panion to  scramble  up  the  steep  and  slippery  hill. 

"There's  his  earth!  Knew  we'd  come  on  it  up  here 
somewheres!  Didn't  have  to  go  round  by  Robin  Hood's 
barn  to  see  it,  either!  We'd  have  smelled  him  long  ago 
if  it'd  been  summertime.  Look,  Bob,  he's  using  this  hole 
all  right.  See  those  black  hairs  stuck  on  the  sides !  That's 
proof,  sure  as  pudding!  They'd  be  red  if  a  fox  had  the 
hole.  Whee!  We're  going  to  get  this  old  codger  quick 
as  a  wink!"  Dave's  excitement  was  fast  mastering  him, 
as  Bob  came  panting  up  to  the  earth.  "Then  there'll  be 
lots  of  skunk-oil  liniment.  Mother  was  saying  we  needed 
some  mightily  about  the  house. 

"Once  father  got  a  big  skunk  and  we  made  two  full 
quarts  of  oil  from  the  fat  that  covered  him  just  under  the 
skin.  You  never  saw  the  like  of  it!  We  ought  to  have 


40  SANDY  FLASH 

luck  here.  A  skunk's  awfully  easy  to  trap,  only  they've 
a  way  sometimes  of  gnawing  their  foot  off.  A  deadfall's 
really  best,  for  it  breaks  their  backs  right  away  and 
there's  no  bother  with  the  scent.  Besides,  they  don't  suf- 
fer any.  But  we'll  put  a  plain  trap  here  for  luck." 

Dave  looked  at  Bob  a  moment  strangely,  then  reading 
the  thought  on  the  latter's  frank  face,  he  said:  "Bob,  you 
think  I'm  mighty  cruel,  don't  you?  I  can  see  you  do,  so 
you  might  as  well  say  it.  But  just  remember  this.  I've 
never  trapped  yet  except  when  we  really  needed  the  meat 
or  the  pelt  money  at  home.  And  I've  never  let  any  ani- 
mal, big  or  small,  suffer  a  moment  longer  than  I  could  help 
it.  Whenever  I  can,  I  use  a  deadfall  and  I  visit  the  trap 
lines  regularly.  Don't  forget  that,  for  it's  the  truth.  And 
it's  fair,  too." 

"I  know  all  that,  Davey.  'Course  we  have  to  trap  or 
we'd  go  cold  as  well  as  hungry  winters  like  this.  Let's 
fix  it." 

The  boys  soon  had  a  medium  trap,  the  same  kind  they 
had  used  at  the  coon  set,  in  place  just  at  the  entrance  to 
the  hole.  The  chain  was  fastened  securely  at  the  foot  of 
a  tree  with  as  little  leeway  as  possible.  Then  they  cov- 
ered the  whole  thing  with  leaves.  Last  of  all,  Dave 
reached  into  the  earth  and  stuck  his  bait  on  a  stick  a  few 
inches  beyond  the  trap.  It  consisted  of  a  bit  of  meat  he 
had  brought  along  in  his  pocket.  The  meat  was  decidedly 
prime.  As  they  were  sliding  and  scrambling  down  the 
hillside,  Bob  examined  the  tracks  once  more.  Not  half 
so  quick  as  David,  the  older  boy,  none  the  less,  had  a  way 
of  making  lasting  use  of  whatever  he  learned.  Now  he 


THE  TRAPS  41 

was  laying  those  new  tracks  away  in  his  mind  where  they 
would  be  well  remembered. 

"It's  queer  how  a  little  animal  like  a  skunk  can  walk 
straight  as  an  arrow  through  the  forest  wherever  it  wants 
to  go,  not  even  afraid  of  a  bobcat  or  a  bear,"  mused  Bob. 
"I  say,  did  you  ever  know,  Dave,  that  a  skunk  can  blind 
a  fox  for  good  if  he  sprays  him  fairly  in  the  eyes?  I  had 
a  dog  nearly  ruined  that  way  once.  Old  Rambler,  it  was. 
I  guess  you  remember  the  time  it  happened?  They  say 
nothing  living  can  close  with  a  skunk,  once  the — " 

"They  give  you  three  fair  warnings,  though,  and  don't 
spray  you  if  you  don't  bother  'em,"  interrupted  Dave, 
eager  to  show  his  own  observant  woodcraft.  "If  you  ever 
meet  with  one,  Bob,  and  he  stops  and  stamps  his  front 
foot  a  couple  of  times,  you'd  better  go  back  or  round.  If 
he  raises  his  tail,  it's  almost  too  late.  But  if  you  see  the 
white  tip  of  it  straight  up  in  the  air  and  you  keep  on 
toward  him,"  Dave  laughed,  "why,  just  bury  your  clothes 
before  coming  over  Rose  Tree  way!  That's  all!" 

The  short  afternoon  was  fast  wearing  on  to  twilight,  as 
the  skunk  set  was  completed,  so  the  lads  turned  south  for 
home  and  supper.  It  had  been  a  day  of  adventure,  a  day 
that  Dave  and  Bob  would  remember  as  long  as  they  lived. 
The  boys  were  tired,  dog  tired,  yet  filled  with  a  feeling  of 
satisfaction  for  work  well  done. 

"We  can  get  over  the  creek  all  right  down  by  the 
stones.  It's  shorter."  Dave  plodded  wearily  on.  "It's 
lucky  they  are  there  when  the  water's  high." 

"Go  first.  You  know  the  way  best,"  answered  Bob, 
his  mind  still  intent  on  the  new  wood  lore  he  had  learned. 


42  SANDY  FLASH 

A  hundred  yards  before  them,  a  man  slipped  from  view 
behind  a  mighty  chestnut — a  veritable  sire  of  the  forest. 
As  Dave  turned  down  the  glade  toward  the  crossing  in 
Ridley,  the  fellow  hissed  softly  between  pursed  lips,  and 
motioned  with  his  arm.  In  answer,  a  second  figure  ap- 
peared for  an  instant,  then  dropped  back  between  the 
cedars  that  had  covered  him.  The  tired  lads  rounded  a 
bend  and  drew  nearer  with  never  a  glance  at  tree  or 
thicket  where  the  footway  passed  between  them,  never  the 
faintest  thought  of  impending  ambuscade. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  HEARTH  RUG 

A  I  ^HE  sudden  parting  of  the  bushes  was  the  first  inti- 
JL  mation  the  lads  had  of  the  men  by  the  path — that, 
and  the  sight  of  a  figure  springing  toward  them  from  the 
chestnut.  Both  boys  halted  in  alarm.  A  moment  later  a 
hearty  laugh  reassured  them,  as  it  echoed  through  the 
dimming  lanes  of  the  forest.  One  of  the  men  came  for- 
ward into  clearer  view. 

"Caught  you  napping  that  time,  the  pair  of  you!  Made 
you  jump  nigh  out  your  skin,  we  did!" 

"Father !  I  say ! "  Bob  looked  again  to  make  sure,  then, 
joined  in  the  merriment  at  his  own  expense. 

"None  other ! "  sang  out  John  Allyn,  so  hugely  pleased 
at  the  success  of  his  little  ruse  that  he  failed  to  note  his 
son's  excited  face  or  even  catch  the  purport  of  his  alarm. 
"None  other,  'I  say'  or  no!  We  just  thought,  Neighbor 
Thomas  and  I,  that  we'd  put  in  a  bit  of  a  Saturday  after- 
noon ourselves  in  the  woods  to  show  we  weren't  so  old  or 
so  dead  to  fun  as  you  lads  most  likely  reckoned  we 
were!"  John  Allyn  laughed  again  in  glee.  The  whole 
affair  was  the  sort  of  lark  that  the  great  good-natured 
farmer  loved  to  take  part  in  on  those  rare  occasions  when 
he  could  find  the  time  from  work. 

"That  we  did,  boys,  that  we  did,"  volunteered  Hugh 
Thomas,  David's  father.  He  was  a  spare  man,  wiry  like 

43 


44  SANDY  FLASH 

his  son,  but  with  an  endurance  that  never  seemed  to  tire. 
He  stepped  closer  to  see  whether  his  boy  still  carried  a 
trap  at  his  belt.  "All  set,  are  they,  right  and  proper? 
That's  the  way  to  go  about  it!  I'm  glad  as  John  Allyn, 
here,  I  came  along,  though  it  did  seem  a  bit  like  passing 
by  more  needful  things  at  first.  A  long  day  you've  made 
of  it  for  a  fact!" 

"Oh,  father,"  interrupted  Dave,  eager  to  tell  of  their 
adventures,  "we've  had  the  wildest  time  you  ever  heard 
of.  First,  we  heard  a — " 

"It  was  Sandy  Flash,  the  highwayman!"  broke  in  Bob, 
unable  longer  to  restrain  himself.  With  both  lads  trying 
to  speak  at  the  same  time,  a  troublesome  task  their  par- 
ents had  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  Newtown  outrage.  At 
last,  it  was  made  clear  to  them  and  their  many  questions 
answered.  The  older  men  grew  serious  at  once.  Hugh 
Thomas  stood  motionless  in  thought  for  a  moment,  then 
nodded  at  his  companion. 

"It's  a  bad  day  for  us  when  Sandy  Flash  comes  riding 
our  end  of  the  country.  I've  heard  tell  of  his  thievery  and 
mischief  many  a  time,  John.  But  we  may  have  seen  the 
last  of  him,  at  that.  I  surely  hope  so.  What  a  vain 
jangling  they  must  have  made  of  it  at  the  Square!  In- 
stead of  closing  with  him!  That's  drinking  for  you!" 
He  fairly  snorted  in  disgust. 

John  Allyn  agreed.  The  man  was  too  interested  now 
in  his  boy's  trapping  to  pay  much  heed  to  the  chance  of 
the  outlaw  coming  back.  Till  he  did,  at  any  rate,  there 
was  no  need  of  worry.  The  posse  had  been  quick  in  pur- 
suit. Perhaps,  even  now  the  blackguard  had  been  seized. 
Farmer  Allyn  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  though  to  dis- 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  45 

miss  the  matter  altogether,  then  glanced  toward  the 
warmly  glowing  west. 

"I  reckon  we'd  best  be  hastening  back,  friends.  I  only 
wish  we'd  thought  to  come  to  the  woods  earlier,  for  I'd 
like  to  have  seen  the  sets  you  made.  I've  a  bit  to  say 
about  this  trapping  business.  Hugh  and  I've  been  talk- 
ing it  over  as  we  walked  along.  The  thing's  a  piece  of 
useful  work  we  both  think  well  of.  Especially,  if  you 
two  go  about  it  in  earnest  and  really  get  the  pelts.  Tell 
'em  what  we've  decided,  Hugh." 

The  older  Thomas  turned  down  the  path  toward  the 
stepping  stones,  speaking  over  his  shoulder,  as  he 
moved  off. 

"Come  on,  then.  I'll  tell  you  everything  after  we  cross 
the  creek.  It'll  be  dark,  as  it  is,  before  we're  back  to  Blue 
Hill  lane.  Look  yonder  at  the  sun,  lads.  'Twill  be  fair 
as  a  bell  to-morrow.  'Red  at  night  is  shepherd's  delight.' 
I  can  hear  your  granddaddy  saying  that  now,  David.  The 
old  gaffer  knew  weather  with  the  best  of  'em." 

The  little  party  swung  off  in  single  file,  the  men  lead- 
ing. Once  safely  across  Ridley,  they  availed  themselves 
of  the  more  open  going  to  walk  abreast.  In  this  manner, 
they  made  steady  way  toward  the  Providence  Road  above, 
while  Hugh  explained  to  the  boys  what  they  waited  to 
hear. 

"You  see,  it's  this  way.  The  war  and  the  taking  of  so 
much  food  and  supplies  for  our  troops  has  meant  that 
things  are  not  going  to  be  half  so  easy  to  get  hold  of,  this 
winter,  as  they  used  to  be.  Not  hereabouts.  You  boys'll 
have  to  do  your  part  in  keeping  the  farms  up  to  the  mark. 
That'll  mean  harder  chores  for  the  pair  of  you,  but  the 


46  SANDY  FLASH 

trapping  is  apart  from  that.  Before  the  winter's  out, 
we'll  need  every  last  pelt  you're  likely  to  get.  More,  too. 
If  you  can  show  us  that  there's  game  about  worth  taking, 
'twouldn't  surprise  me  if  we  older  folks  joined  in  the  work 
ourselves  a  bit,  when  we've  time  to  spare  from  the  farms. 
That  has  to  come  first  always." 

Hugh  paused  till  the  others  had  joined  him  in  scram- 
bling over  the  wayside  wall  of  stone.  As  they  dropped 
down  the  bank  to  the  road,  he  went  on  speaking. 

"Pelts  can  help  us  in  many  ways.  We  can  get  the 
women  folks  to  make  'em  up  into  good  snug  caps  and 
mufflers  and  mittens  for  us  all.  We  can  even  make  a  fine 
coat  or  two  out  of  the  big  ones,  if  you  boys  prove  to  be 
the  trappers  you  ought.  Then  John,  here,  has  another 
great  thought  on  it.  He  says  we  might  let  you  have  as 
much  time  as  we  could  possibly  spare  and  that  in  return 
for  the  sport  you'd  get  from  it,  you  two  should  agree  to 
put  the  gain  toward  buying  what  little  you  could  for  the 
men  of  the  army.  They're  camping  out  in  the  wet  and 
cold  over  somewheres  by  the  Valley  Forge  right  now. 
Even  pelts  and  hides  would  help  'em  mightily.  I  heard 
that  close  to  ten  thousand  men  were  setting  up  their  huts 
there!" 

The  boys  fairly  shouted  in  approval.  To  tell  the  truth 
they  had  been  a  mite  uncertain  as  to  just  how  far  their 
parents  would  favor  the  regular  trapping  work  they  had 
in  mind  for  the  winter.  In  ordinary  times  it  would  have 
been  easy  to  find  all  the  leisure  they  needed,  but  with  the 
county  in  disorder,  food  of  many  kinds  very  scarce,  sup- 
plies hard  to  get  hold  of  in  the  little  wayside  hamlets, 
each  boy  knew  well  that  his  first  duty  was  at  home,  work- 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  47 

ing  his  hardest  there  to  keep  up  the  chores  assigned  him. 

"Then  we  can  put  out  another  line  of  traps,  can't  we, 
Dave?  At  Castle  Rock,  maybe!  Oh,  I  say!  You  could 
easily  see  to  one  and  I  could  try — " 

"Hold  steady  there,  lad!  Easy  dpes  it!"  Hugh  Thomas 
broke  in,  smiling  at  the  boy's  enthusiasm.  "It's  best  to 
do  one  thing  well  while  you're  at  it.  Now,  listen  here. 
This  is  to  be  serious  work,  mind,  not  play.  I  want  you, 
David,  and  John  Allyn  looks  to  Bob  to  go  about  this 
rightly  or  not  begin  at  all.  Set  one  line  of  traps  and  set 
'em  well.  Arrange  between  you  to  have  'em  seen  to  dur- 
ing the  week.  Then  on  Saturdays  you  both  can  have  all 
day  at  it.  Every  fortnight  you  can  have  a  whole  after- 
noon for  the  work  in  mid-week,  turn  about  with  Bob. 
I'd  give  every  day,  to  boot,  but  there's  the  chores  you 
must  help  me  with  and  then  there's  the  schooling  in  the 
morning.  War  or  no  war,  any  boy  of  mine  must  get  a 
bit  of  that,  though  a  sorry  time  it  is  these  days  to  find 
place  or  person  who's  a  chance  to  teach  him!" 

Hugh  paused,  while  big  John  Allyn  nodded  in  confirma- 
tion. The  sound,  hard-working  farmers  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, those  who  had  originally  settled  along  the  reaches 
of  Darby  Creek  and  in  the  Old  Welsh  Barony  that  ran 
from  Merion  in  the  east  far  up  past  Haverford  to  Tredyf- 
frin  in  the  Valley,  these  men  had  paid  great  heed  for  gen- 
erations to  the  schooling  of  their  children.  When  no  regu- 
lar dominie  was  to  be  had,  as  was  too  often  the  case,  they 
made  out  the  best  way  they  could  themselves,  assigning 
lessons  at  which  their  boys  and  girls  could  work  to  profit 
in  the  long  winter  evenings  and  as  often  as  they  could  be 
spared  from  chores  during  the  busier  hours  of  daylight. 


48  SANDY  FLASH 

The  Quaker  children  usually  attended  week-day  school 
of  a  more  or  less  regular  nature  in  the  old  Friends'  Meet- 
ing Houses  at  Haverford,  Ithan  and  elsewhere  through 
the  county. 

Books  were  few,  but  the  Bible  was  in  every  homestead, 
while  often  a  Pilgrim's  Progress  or  even  a  Paradise  Lost 
served  the  purpose  of  reader  and  speller  combined.  From 
such  as  these,  Dave  and  Bob  had  learned  their  letters  and 
to  parse.  It  must  be  admitted  that  in  mathematics  they 
had  not  gone  so  far,  although  they  were  founded  in  the 
elements  of  that  creditably  enough.  It  had  been  driven 
home  to  them  by  practical  examples  of  its  use  in  the  daily 
life  of  the  farm  and  in  the  village  markets  where  their 
fathers  drove  cattle  for  exchange. 

When  Dave's  father  now  said  that  trapping  was  for 
week-ends  and  then  only,  both  boys  knew  that  he  meant 
it.  There  was  no  questioning  of  his  authority  or  judg- 
ment. 

"The  thing  we  all  must  do  this  winter,  boys,  is  help  our- 
selves as  best  we  can.  Soon  as  ever  I  saw  you  two  were 
really  earnest  about  the  trapping,  I  began  to  turn  over  in 
my  mind  how,  if  you  went  about  it  right,  you  might  bring 
in  quite  a  bit  of  game  to  line  our  larders.  That  and  the 
pelts  for  making  some  warm  and  handy  things  we  need 
would  more  than  offset  the  time  from  work.  Neighbor 
Allyn  agreed,  so  out  we  came  to  Ridley  Woodland,  know- 
ing we'd  find  you  here  or  up  by  Pickering  Thicket 
yonder." 

"Easy  as  rolling  off  a  log,"  quoth  big  John  Allyn,  smil- 
ing as  he  recalled  the  startled  look  on  the  lads'  faces,  when 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  49 

his  ambush  had  been  sprung.  "Bob,  you  jumped  like  a 
scared  woodchuck  back  there !  Truly,  you  did ! " 

"They  both  did,"  went  on  Hugh.  "We  could  track  you 
finely,  once  you  left  the  road.  It  was  the  same  as  follow- 
ing the  slot  of  a  deer  like  I  used  to  do  on  the  hills  of 
Tredyffrin  when  I  was  your  age.  Many's  the  time  I've 
hunted  'em  over  there,  visiting  the  Walkers  or  the  Wil- 
sons in  the  Valley.  Davie,  here,  comes  by  his  trapping 
well,  I'll  tell  you,  so  you'll  have  to  pick  up  every  trick  of 
it  you  can,  Bob." 

"And  remember  it's  real  work,  you're  doing,  son," 
added  John  Allyn.  "We've  got  to  depend  a  lot  more  on 
our  own  fields  and  our  own  forests  than  we've  been  doing 
of  late.  To  say  nothing  of  our  streams.  Tell  us  now 
what  sets  you've  put  out  to-day.  And  how  you  made 
'em?  With  Sandy  Flash  and  poor  old  Peter,  the  wonder 
is  to  me  you've  found  a  chance  to  lay  a  one  of  'em." 

The  boys  soon  related  the  story  of  the  rabbit  snare  that 
had  been  sprung.  Then  they  told  of  the  coon  sets  they 
had  made  in  the  ends  of  the  logs,  and  Dave  described  the 
skunk  trap,  taking  care  to  give  his  chum  the  credit  for 
first  noting  the  tracks.  By  the  time  the  boys  had  finished, 
they  had  reached  the  lane  that  ran  from  the  slope  of  Blue 
Hill  off  toward  the  hollow  of  Ridley  Valley  where  Syca- 
more Mills  nestled  among  the  trees  to  the  west.  The 
Allyns,  father  and  son,  turned  off  here,  bound  for  their 
farm  a  mile  or  so  away.  Dave  and  Hugh  Thomas  waved 
them  farewell  and  kept  on  toward  the  Rose  Tree  corner, 
where  they,  too,  soon  turned  aside  and  entered  the  long 
lane  that  led  up  to  the  Thomas  homestead.  The  boys  had 


50  SANDY  FLASH 

agreed  before  parting  that  they  would  meet  again  the 
following  Monday  and  see  what  luck  had  come  to  their 
traps. 

Dave  was  hungry  as  a  bear  after  his  long  tramp  and 
the  excitement  of  the  morning,  but  Mistress  Thomas  had 
taken  that  into  account  when  she  had  begun  to  make 
ready  the  evening  meal.  By  the  time  chores  were  ended 
and  Dave  had  washed,  the  iron  pots  and  pans  and  little 
skillets  were  already  smoking  on  the  hearth.  Hugh 
Thomas  moved  the  great  oaken  table  nearer  the  fireplace, 
lighted  a  second  tallow  dip  and  took  his  place  at  the 
board.  Then  he  nodded  to  his  wife.  The  woman  left  the 
hearth  where  she  had  been  stooping  and  took  her  place  be- 
side her  husband,  while  Dave  hastened  to  his  stool.  Mr. 
Thomas  bowed  his  head  and  spoke  a  word  or  two  of  rever- 
ent grace  as  was  his  custom.  Never  a  meal  was  eaten  in 
that  household  without  this  simple  form  of  offering 
thanks. 

The  supper  that  followed  was  a  plain  one  in  that  nearly 
everything  on  the  table  had  been  home-grown.  None  the 
less  it  was  ample  and  wholesome,  even  for  the  hungry  man 
and  boy  so  ready  to  fall  to  upon  it.  First,  came  a  great 
pewter  platter  heaped  high  with  baked  potates.  They 
had  been  done  to  a  turn,  snuggled  deep  in  the  ashes  of  the 
hearth,  then  dusted  clean.  Dave  and  his  father  had  put 
many  an  hour  of  toil  and  care  to  the  growing  of  them,  but 
now  the  bin  was  full,  a  goodly  winter  supply  assured,  pro- 
vided it  did  not  fall  a  prey  to  some  marauding  foragers. 
With  the  potatoes  were  juicy  slices  of  home-cured,  hick- 
ory-smoked ham,  piping  hot.  Dave's  mouth  fairly 
watered  at  the  smell  of  it,  as  the  lid  was  removed  from  the 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  51 

dish.  Last  of  all,  Mistress  Thomas  knelt  by  the  hearth 
and  pulled  from  the  coals  a  three-legged  iron  pan  full  of 
cornmeal  cakes.  This  was  a  special  treat,  indeed,  honor- 
ing the  day's  tramp. 

The  griddle-cakes  had  been  made  from  the  ground  meal 
of  Indian  maize,  the  great  grain  crop  that  farmers  were 
already  beginning  to  call  corn  and  grow  in  quantity.  Up 
until  recently,  however,  they  had  rather  looked  down  upon 
it  in  the  county,  quite  content  to  purchase  small  supplies 
from  the  Lower  Country,  as  need  for  it  arose.  Placing 
the  corn  cakes  on  the  table,  Dave's  mother  took  from  the 
fireside  cupboard  a  bowl  of  treacle  and  a  plate  of  fresh 
butter,  the  sweet,  unsalted  article  that  her  boy  loved. 
True  to  the  Welsh  breed  in  them,  Dave  and  his  father, 
as  well,  would  have  none  of  the  salted  stuff  that  many 
dairymen  were  in  the  habit  of  making  so  that  they  could 
keep  it  longer,  then  sell  it  in  the  town  on  market  days. 
For  the  Thomases  there  was  nothing  to  take  the  place  of 
freshly  churned,  real  home-made  butter,  sweet  as  any 
cream. 

The  bread,  too,  that  lay  in  a  great  golden  loaf  in  front 
of  Mistress  Thomas's  place,  had  been  made  from  wheat 
grown  on  the  farm.  Dave  well  recalled  the  day  he  and 
his  father  and  some  kindly  neighbors  had  cradled  that 
wheat,  every  rod  of  the  great  field.  Then  tied  it  by  hand 
in  even  bundles  with  strands  of  Indian  hemp.  That  had 
been  Dave's  special  care.  Afterwards,  the  harvestmen 
had  gathered  these  bundles  and  laid  them  up  in  cocks, 
taking  heed  to  keep  the  rows  as  straight  as  a  line  of  tents 
in  army  bivouac.  Each  cock  had  been  cleverly  topped 
and  thatched  to  turn  the  rain,  a  masterpiece  of  farmcraft 


52  SANDY  FLASH 

in  itself.  Indeed,  the  farmers  of  the  neighborhood  had 
long  taken  an  unusual  pride  in  the  handiwork  of  hus- 
bandry. Last  of  all  had  come  the  garnering  of  the  grain, 
the  piling  of  the  bundles  on  the  sledges  to  haul  them  to 
the  threshing  floor.  Wheeled  wagons  and  wains  were  still 
uncommon  for  the  rougher  forms  of  field  work. 

Dave  enjoyed  this  threshing  of  the  wheat  more  than  all 
the  yearly  routine  of  the  soil.  Somehow,  the  boy  sensed 
the  vast  tradition  of  the  thing,  the  vital  link  between  it 
and  the  history  of  the  race.  It  made  him  think  of  passages 
his  father  used  to  read  each  evening  from  the  Bible.  He 
never  quite  understood  what  there  was  that  held  him  so, 
but  the  steady  swing  and  thumping  of  the  flails,  the  scat- 
tering grain,  the  flying  chaff,  when  winnowing  had  begun, 
all  this  gripped  him  strangely,  often  coming  back  to  his 
mind  in  vivid  pictures,  as  he  tramped  the  forest  trails  for 
game.  It  seemed  a  kind  of  new  miracle  to  the  boy  each 
time  he  watched  the  slowly  rising  waves  of  gold  that 
meant  the  bread  they  ate.  Then,  later  on,  it  was  always 
sport  to  take  a  sack  or  so  of  it,  as  they  chanced  to  need 
the  flour,  and  ride  with  them  slung  behind  the  saddle  of 
a  horse  to  the  grist  mill  down  in  Haverford,  where  his 
father  liked  the  milling  best.  As  he  put  it,  "The  stay  of 
the  bread's  from  the  grind  of  the  millstones." 

Dave  thought  of  these  things  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  way, 
as  he  watched  his  mother  slice  the  loaf.  Then  he  fell  to 
again  on  more  potatoes  and  ham,  corn  cakes  and  treacle, 
smooth  dabs  of  melting  butter  a-plenty.  A  pewter  pitcher 
of  sassafras  tea  served  to  fill  his  mug  as  often  as  he 
wanted  it.  After  all,  about  the  best  part  of  a  long  day's 
trudge  in  the  woodland  was  a  glowing  hearth  at  home  and 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  53 

a  supper  like  this  when  the  tramp  was  over.  The  boy 
heaved  a  sigh  of  pure  happiness  and  pushed  back  his  seat, 
but  dessert  was  yet  to  come — a  further  surprise  of  his 
mother's.  It  was  a  great  apple  dumpling  literally  drip- 
ping in  cream! 

"There,  my  dear,"  she  said  proudly,  putting  it  before 
him  on  the  table,  "how  will  that  top  off  a  busy  day? 
Here's  yours,  Hugh,  not  one  whit  smaller,  so  don't  look 
jealous.  There's  my  own,  the  little  fellow!  'Tis  a  shame 
to  eat  so  much  in  war  time,  I  do  declare  it." 

"We  farming  men  and  trappers  must  find  our  forage, 
rain  or  clear,  eh,  David?"  laughed  Hugh  Thomas.  "Pon 
my  soul,  three  dumplings  in  a  row!  For  all  the  world 
like  the  arms  of  William  Penn.  I've  seen  'em  many  a 
time  carved  on  the  mile  stones  along  Old  Gulph  Road! 
Fall  to,  lad,  and  show  your  mother  what  a  good  Welsh 
trencherman  you  are.  Old  Thomas  ap  Thomas,  my 
grandfather,  could  eat  more  than  any  man  in  Merioneth- 
shire, they  do  tell  of  him." 

Dave  obeyed  with  no  further  urging.  As  he  ate,  he  re- 
lated to  his  mother  the  events  of  the  day. 

After  the  supper  things  had  been  cleared  away,  the 
boy  helped  the  woman  with  the  dishes,  then  returned  to 
the  fireside.  This  was  the  hour  he  loved  best.  Stretched 
at  full  length  upon  the  soft  hearth  rug,  he  let  his  tired 
body  relax,  while  his  mind,  always  active,  turned  over,  a 
point  at  a  time,  every  in  and  out  of  woodcraft  that  he 
knew.  He  was  going  to  make  good  at  that  whatever  hap- 
pened, just  to  show  his  father  and  John  Allyn  and  his 
good  friend  Bob  that  their  confidence  in  his  skill  had  not 
been  misplaced.  As  he  lay  there,  gazing  at  the  coals 


54  SANDY  FLASH 

through  half-shut  lids,  the  boy's  imagination  wandered 
back  into  the  olden  days  of  the  county,  the  past  that  was 
even  now  becoming  a  tradition,  although  Hugh  Thomas 
himself  could  recall  as  a  boy  having  seen  a  few  of  the 
pioneers.  Those  were  the  days  when  real  trappers  were 
plentiful  about  these  very  fields  and  Dave's  interest 
quickened  as  he  thought  of  them. 

"Father,"  the  lad  spoke  suddenly,  though  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  watched  his  mother  replace  a  kettle  on  the 
notched  bar  of  the  hob.  "Father,  I've  often  wondered 
what  the  old-time  Indians  used  to  cook  their  messes  in 
before  the  white  people  came  to  trade  'em  pots  and  pans 
and  things?" 

Hugh  Thomas  edged  his  high-backed  chair  nearer  the 
corner  of  the  ingleside,  then  lighted  a  church-warden  pipe 
of  clay.  It  must  have  been  nearly  two  feet  from  bowl  to 
mouthpiece.  For  a  moment  he  puffed  in  silence,  eyes  half 
closed. 

"Pipes,  now,  they  made  of  clay,  only  not  in  the  very 
least  like  the  one  I've  got  here.  Indian  pipes  are  mostly 
short,  son,  with  a  thick  tube.  I  once  saw  a  really  fine  one 
belonging  to  a  sachem,  I  think  it  was,  but  it  had  been 
carved  from  pot  stone  and  was  red.  Cooking  stuff,  you 
said?  Most  all  of  their  kettles  were  baked  from  clay 
with  a  bit  of  sand  or  a  dash  of  quartz  thrown  in.  They 
got  a  lot  of  that  right  from  the  North  Valley  Hills  in  our 
own  county,  I  reckon.  A  few  used  pot  stone,  as  they 
called  it.  Remember  once  when  I  was  a  lad  about  the 
size  of  you  now,  I  wandered  far  up  Crum  to  the  Cath- 
cart  Rocks  in  Willistown.  The  great  Nawbeek  Meadow 
lies  just  beyond  the  ravine  there,  and  that's  where  the  In- 


dians  used  to  camp  in  the  olden  time.  Most  every  year 
you'd  find  'em  there  in  those  days.  I  watched  their 
women  folks  busy  at  the  cooking.  They  had  clay  pots,  but 
not  glazed  at  all,  inside  or  out.  Two  little  holes  were  let 
in  the  top  edge  of  'em  so's  they  could  run  a  stick  through 
to  hang  'em  up.  They'd  build  a  wee  fire  under  it,  put  the 
hunks  of  venison  or  whatnot  in  and  boil  it. 

"That  great  pasture  there  you  ought  to  see  some  day, 
David.  You  and  Bob  Allyn  would  like  it.  It  must  have 
been  a  camping  place  for  redskins  ages  by.  Even  now  a 
body  can  find  all  manner  of  flint  knives  there.  And  as 
many  stone  arrow  heads  and  hatchets  as  you'd  want. 
They're  grooved  and  scraped  away  where  they  tied  the 
handles  on  'em  with  strings  of  gut  and  sinew.  No  doubt 
you've  seen  plenty?  Aye,  lad,  it's  a  great  thing,  a  kind  of 
holy  thing,  to  me,  looking  back  at  the  strange  peoples  who 
lived  their  lives  right  here  in  our  own  hills  before  ever  a 
white  man  came!  What  ways  they  had  of  living,  too!" 

Hugh  Thomas  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips  and  gazed  a 
moment  at  the  logs  upon  the  firedogs.  He  was  seeing 
again  the  camp  of  the  Delawares  as  it  had  stretched  be- 
fore him  many  years  ago  where  willowed  Crum  loops  so 
smoothly  through  the  Nawbeek  pastures.  He  was  living 
once  more  his  own  boyhood,  working  back  into  the  past 
and  making  it  real  to  his  son  as  only  a  Celt  can.  A  log 
cracked  midway  and  fell  from  the  andirons  with  a  snap- 
ping of  sparks.  The  man  straightened  suddenly  in  his 
chair. 

"Look,  David,  at  the  Quakers  flocking  to  their  meet- 
ing! It  must  be  Old  Merion,  there's  so  many!"  He 
nodded  at  the  sparks,  then  went  on,  "I'll  warrant  you're 


56  SANDY  FLASH 

not  clever  woodsman  enough  even  now  to  tell  me  how 
the  Lenapes  made  their  war  canoes  in  the  days  when  they 
had  no  metal?  They  could  do  it,  all  right.  None 
better!" 

"Yes,  I  can  tell  you,"  laughed  David,  glad  to  prove  his 
father  mistaken.  "They  burned  out  big  trees  till  they 
were  hollow.  Just  like  we  made  our  own  horse-trough 
two  years  ago!" 

"Right  enough,  so  we  did.  I'd  forgotten  that.  You 
scored  that  time!  But  I  mean  how  did  they  manage  to 
get  the  trees  down?  We  chopped  ours,  but  they  had  no 
steel  axes.  I  watched  'em  at  it  once.  The  young  braves 
made  a  fire  of  hot  coals  close  about  the  roots,  then  others 
took  long  poles,  saplings,  with  wet  swabs  of  blanket  on 
the  ends.  They  kept  dabbing  the  upper  part  of  the  trunk 
with  the  wet  stuff  so  it  couldn't  catch  fire.  They  brought 
down  the  biggest  tree  they  needed  that  way,  where  a 
white  man  would  like  have  set  the  woods  ablaze." 

Hugh  sucked  at  his  pipe  a  few  moments,  while  Dave 
snuggled  more  comfortably  on  the  rug.  The  fire  had 
sunk  to  a  warm  glow  of  coals  and  the  farmer  responded 
still  more  to  its  call.  There  were  few  things  he  loved 
better  than  to  sit  thus  for  a  while  with  his  boy  during  the 
long  winter  evenings,  telling  him  of  the  older  day  when 
men's  very  lives  and  that  of  their  loved  ones  depended  on 
woodcraft  and  their  skill  with  trap  and  gun.  Hugh 
Thomas  was  a  plain  man,  but  he  sensed  unconsciously 
that  any  love  for  the  open,  any  contact  with  the  clean 
breath  of  out  of  doors  that  he  might  give  to  his  son  would 
prove  in  the  end  as  wholesome  a  part  of  his  education  as 
all  else  put  together.  In  this  view,  he  was  at  one  with 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  57 

his  neighbor,  John  Allyn.  Slowly  now  he  bent  over  and 
scooped  up  a  ruddy  coal  in  his  palm,  just  enough  ashes 
about  it  to  prevent  a  burn.  Carefully  he  brought  it  to 
the  bowl  of  the  church-warden  and  relighted  the  tobacco, 
then  sat  back  contentedly  drawing  at  the  long  stem. 

"Davey,  you'll  never  know  what  a  place  this  was  for 
game,  this  county  of  ours  between  the  Schuylkill  and  the 
Brandywine  and  on  beyond,  far  to  the  pines  of  Noting- 
ham  and  Oxford.  It  was  not  so  long  ago,  at  that.  'Tis 
a  fact.  Why,  once  I  saw  myself  a  flock  of  wild  pigeons 
roosting  in  Martin's  Hollow.  They  broke  the  branches 
from  the  trees,  believe  it  or  no,  but  they  did.  They  came 
to  the  woods  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  with  such  a  racket 
and  a  jangling  a  man  could  scarcely  hear  his  own  voice! 
In  the  morning,  I  went  there  again  with  a  gun  and  saw 
the  great  boughs  that  had  cracked  under  their  weight. 
Saw  it  with  my  very  eyes!  Of  course,  we've  still  some  of 
them  left  and  the  wild  turkeys,  too.  Besides,  the  small 
game  a-plenty.  But  the  deer  are  hard  to  kill  these  days, 
I  know  right  well.  And  bear!  I  doubt  you  could  see 
many  'cept  in  the  Welsh  Mountain.  Up  in  the  Nant- 
meals,  maybe,  there  might  still  be  one  or  two.  Remem- 
ber, lad,  you'll  have  to  use  some  skill  to  trap  the  worth- 
while pelts  these  days." 

Then  Hugh  Thomas  went  on  to  speak  of  the  rough 
life  of  the  past.  How  bitter  a  time  the  first  farmers  had 
when  the  countryside  was  partly  tilling  land  and  partly 
forest  primeval — for  the  most  part  neither  one  nor  the 
other.  How  that  no  one  in  the  county  bothered  then  to 
seed  to  timothy  or  clover  and  how  little  they  used  to 
think  of  lime  and  manure  for  the  soil.  And  how  they 


58  SANDY  FLASH 

always  grew  the  same  crops  year  after  year — wheat,  rye, 
oats  and  barley,  often  over  and  over  in  the  same  field 
with  no  rotation.  Indeed,  the  man  shook  his  head  as  he 
spoke  of  it,  wondering  that  any  yields  at  all  were  har- 
vested in  the  days  when  his  grandfather  drove  his  ox- 
team  plow  so  patiently  up  and  down  between  the  field 
stumps. 

"But  how  did  they  ever  come  to  find  out  the  things 
they  can't  get  along  without  nowadays?"  Dave  queried, 
keen  in  the  details  of  the  farm  that  meant  his  father's 
livelihood.  "That's  what  I  can't  make  out." 

"I  hoped  you'd  ask  me  that,"  smiled  back  the  other. 
"How  did  you  come  to  use  traps  like  those  you  showed  me 
yesterday,  the  ones  that  had  the  side  lugs  on  'em?  Your 
first  ones  were  not  like  that  at  all." 

"I  know  they  weren't.  I  had  to  change  'em.  The 
plain  ones  didn't  work  so  well  after  a  bit  and  I  lost  a  lot 
of  muskrats  and  one  mink,  even,  got  loose  from  'em.  I 
knew  something  was  wrong  so  I  kept  on  trying  out  dif- 
ferent fixes  and  I  asked  all  the  folks  I  knew  what  they 
used.  That  man  over  in  Aston — " 

"That's  your  answer  as  to  why  we  haul  lime  from  the 
Valley  kilns  to-day  and  why  we  seed  clover  with  the 
wheat,  when  we  didn't  use  to  do  a  bit  of  it.  The  land 
got  weaker  and  weaker  till  we  had  to  try  a  few  things  and 
ask  other  folks  what  they'd  tried.  It's  the  same  in  every- 
thing, I  reckon,  son.  You've  just  got  to  keep  on  trying 
'em  out  and  trying  again  and  only  using  what's  best. 
There's  mother  stirring.  That  means  bed." 

The  quiet  evening  had  slipped  by  so  speedily  that 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  59 

neither  man  nor  boy  had  given  thought  to  the  hour,  but 
Mistress  Thomas  had  kept  tab  on  the  tallow  candle  set 
in  its  brass  stand  by  the  ingle-nook.  She  always  put  a 
light  there  after  supper,  then  sat  by  the  glow  of  the 
hearth  busy  at  a  household  task  till  the  dip  had  burned 
low.  When  it  did,  the  time  had  come  for  bed.  To-night 
she  had  been  interested  intensely  in  her  boy's  story  of 
the  affair  at  the  Pratt  House  Tavern  and  his  description 
of  the  sets  he  and  his  chum  had  made,  as  well  as  in  the 
rambling  talk  of  her  husband,  but  she  knew  that  he  and 
David  must  be  worn  by  their  busy  day.  Accordingly,  she 
arose  and  put  the  wooden  frame  they  used  for  candle  dip- 
ping on  its  peg  in  the  corner.  She  had  been  making 
ready  for  the  work  to  begin  bright  and  early  Monday 
morning.  The  wick  strings  had  been  tied  to  their  places 
and  clipped  to  proper  length,  while  the  man  and  boy  were 
talking.  She  began,  thrifty  housewife  that  she  was,  to 
bank  the  fire,  but  Dave  scrambled  up  from  the  rug  and 
took  the  little  iron  shovel  from  her.  Soon  he  had  the 
hearth  stone  clean  and  safe  for  the  night,  the  hot  coals 
blanketed  in  ashes  against  the  need  at  breakfast. 

Hugh  Thomas  knocked  the  tobacco  fragments  from  his 
pipe  and  laid  it  carefully  on  the  mantel.  Then  he  un- 
hooked a  great  brass  bed-warmer  from  its  nail  in  the 
ingle  and  filled  it  with  steaming  water,  refilling  the  heavy 
iron  kettle  on  the  hob  with  cold  water  from  another  pail. 
In  the  days  when  there  were  no  stoves  to  heat  a  room,- 
no  way  at  all,  in  fact,  save  open  fires,  and  when  the 
kitchen  was  the  only  place  where  a  fire  was  usually 
burning,  country  folk  contrived  to  keep  themselves  as 


60  SANDY  FLASH 

snug  as  they  could  wish  by  such  means  as  this.  Dave 
had  no  brass  warmer,  but  he  lifted  from  the  hearth  an 
earthenware  jug  full  of  water  that  had  been  warming 
there  all  evening.  He  corked  it  tightly,  then  slipped  it 
into  the  woolen  cover  his  mother  had  made  for  it.  Put 
at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  he  knew  that  no  night  could  be 
too  cold  for  him  in  his  little  room  upstairs.  A  final 
glance  at  the  fire  and  the  windows,  a  testing  of  the  bar 
across  the  door,  and  the  Thomas  family  were  ready  for 
rest. 

It  was  from  evenings  such  as  this  that  Dave  drew 
much  of  his  passion  for  the  country  about  him.  The 
lad  remembered  always  the  things  his  father  spoke 
of  while  the  logs  burned  to  embers  on  the  hearth. 
He  had  a  way  of  weaving  them  into  living  pictures  and 
applying  them  to  the  scenes  described.  Often  as  he 
wandered  far  from  home  in  the  Rose  Tree  neighborhood, 
his  eyes  alert  for  signs  of  track  or  trail,  he  would  people 
the  woodland  with  figures  that  were  real  to  him.  Very 
real.  Blessed  with  a  vivid  imagination,  he  far  outrivaled 
Bob  Allyn  in  getting  down  to  the  throbbing  heart  of 
the  countryside  and  living  as  a  part  of  it.  This  same 
power  of  the  mind  made  him  a  better  woodsman,  also, 
than  the  older  boy,  for  Dave  had  an  uncanny  way  of 
thinking  himself  into  the  brain  of  the  animal  he  was 
after.  In  short,  he  was  alive  all  the  time.  He  was 
awake  to  the  mysterious  beauty  that  gripped  him,  as 
he  looked  out  on  the  roll  and  swell  of  the  farmland  and 
forest  encircling  his  home.  His  mind  answered  uncon- 
sciously to  the  thrill  of  it,  nourished,  as  it  was,  by  his 
fit,  strong  body. 


THE  HEARTH  RUG  61 

Dave  Thomas  was  still  a  boy,  but  he  had  worked 
out  a  good  many  problems  of  his  own  under  the  clean 
urge  of  outdoor  work  and  play. 

This  same  joy  in  everyday  life  was  due  in  large  meas- 
ure to  his  father's  way  of  making  even  the  most  com- 
monplace things  glow  with  interest  for  him.  The  boy 
had  learned  early  the  priceless  secret  of  keenness,  no 
matter  what  the  thing  be  that  engaged  his  attention.  He 
liked  to  play,  as  he  needs  must  work — hard. 

To-night,  he  took  his  candle  with  a  sleepy  laugh  and 
followed  his  parents  to  the  floor  above.  Tired  he  surely 
was,  from  the  miles  he  had  tramped  that  day,  but  happily 
tired,  his  mind  in  a  mellow  warmth  of  content.  The 
rescue  of  Peter  Burgandine,  the  adventure  of  Newtown 
Square,  the  escape  of  Sandy  Flash,  all  these  had  slipped 
from  him.  Drowsily  Dave  sank  to  slumber,  his  last 
thought  for  the  traps  by  Ridley  water. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  RIDLEY  OTTER 

SUNDAY  passed  quietly  enough  for  both  Dave  and 
his  friend  Allyn  over  at  Sycamore  Mills.  Only  nec- 
essary chores  were  seen  to  on  the  farms.  The  Thomases 
spent  the  afternoon  at  neighbors'  in  Nether  Providence, 
while  Bob  and  his  parents  put  in  most  of  the  day  driving 
by  sledge  to  church  at  Old  St.  David's. 

It  was  a  long  pull  for  the  team  all  the  way  to  the 
Radnor  line,  as  the  sledge  was  far  more  heavy  than  the 
swiftly  moving  sleighs  and  cutters  of  to-day,  but  the 
horses  were  stout  beasts  with  a  dash  of  good  old  Shire 
blood  to  lend  them  courage. 

Past  the  ridge  of  the  Providence  Road,  they  glided 
onward,  the  chime  of  bells  tinkling  merrily  in  the  keen 
air  as  the  boy  tried  to  point  out  where  the  trap  line  had 
been  set.  The  bulk  of  Blue  Hill  was  in  the  way,  how- 
ever. Down  the  slope  they  went  at  creditable  speed, 
across  the  Crum  by  Bartrams  Bridge,  then  up  to  Snake- 
house  Wood,  a  great  dark  pile  of  forest  that  seemed  to 
hang  above  them  on  the  slopes.  Swinging  to  the  left, 
they  settled  to  a  steady  pull  across  the  Newtown  Hill 
and  the  Square  beyond.  Here,  as  they  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  Pratt  House  to  water,  Bob  was  able  to  ask  of 
the  posse  the  afternoon  before.  Its  luck  had  been,  as  he 
knew  it  must  be,  poor.  Sandy  Flash  had  escaped.  The 
landlord  knew  nothing  further  of  Burgandine.  Indeed, 

62 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  63 

he  had  not  seen  him  or  Jehu  Evans,  either,  since  the  two 
men  had  driven  off  with  the  boys  to  look  for  the  runaway 
horse. 

The  church  of  St.  David,  patron  of  Wales,  lay  in  a 
little  hollow  of  pines  and  other  evergreens  not  far  from 
Darby  Road.  It  had  been  built  in  1715,  and  was  already 
looked  upon  as  ancient  in  the  countryside.  While  they 
were  driving  through  the  church  yard  after  service,  John 
Allyn  pointed  toward  the  quaint  low  tombstones  grouped 
about  the  door. 

"Many's  the  Welsh  name  you'll  find  yonder  in  God's 
Acre,  son.  No  doubt  our  neighbor  Thomas  has  kith  and 
kin  a-plenty  amongst  'em.  They  used  to  tell  how  William 
Penn  himself  came  to  preach  in  the  Old  Barony  once 
upon  a  time  and  not  a  soul  could  understand  him  there 
because  he  didn't  use  the  Welsh  tongue,  but  the  English! 
It's  a  good  thing  we've  gotten  over  that  part  of  it  anyway 
or  else  little  you'd  learn  of  trapping  from  Davey."  John 
Allyn  chuckled  and  swung  the  sledge  out  past  the  lich- 
gate. Then  he  flicked  at  the  pair  with  the  whip  and 
turned  toward  Sycamore  Mills. 

During  the  rest  of  the  drive  Dave  and  his  father  kept 
up  a  constant  flow  of  conversation,  centered  for  the 
most  part  on  horses,  for  the  elder  Allyn  was  as  keen  a 
judge  of  horseflesh  as  was  his  boy.  Dearly  did  he  relish 
the  joy  of  a  fine  team  or  a  clever  saddler.  They  were 
making  plans  now  for  the  breaking  of  the  spring  colts, 
as  the  Allyns  had  always  added  largely  to  their  income 
by  breeding  one  or  two  of  their  mares  each  year.  They 
disposed  of  the  young  stock  in  the  town  where  a  good 
market  had  awaited  them  until  the  war.  Bob's  mother 


64  SANDY  FLASH 

took  but  little  part  in  the  talk.  To  tell  the  truth,  she 
was  more  engaged  with  thoughts  of  how  she  best  could 
provide  her  family  with  a  comfortable  living  during  the 
winter.  It  was  no  slight  thing  to  have  supplies  so  scarce 
and  the  country  overrun  with  all  sorts  of  thieving  ruffians 
ready  to  strip  bare  the  first  homestead  that  should  fall 
within  their  power.  These  Tory  agents  had  already 
worked  far  more  harm  than  any  of  the  regular  troops 
of  the  Crown,  who  were  scrupulously  honest  in  paying 
for  whatever  they  commandeered.  Only  a  fortnight  be- 
fore, some  cattle  had  been  seized  this  way  over  in  Con- 
cord and  driven  off  with  threats.  The  women  of  the 
countryside  were  uneasy. 

When  Bob  went  to  bed  on  Sunday  night,  he  had  the 
fullest  intentions  of  rising  early  and  getting  over  to 
Dave's  in  time  to  make  a  good  start  for  the  trap  line 
the  next  morning.  A  storm  of  sleet  and  snow,  however, 
upset  his  plans.  It  would  be  out  of  the  question  to  do 
any  useful  work  with  the  sets  in  such  weather,  so  the 
boy  contented  himself  with  putting  in  a  good  day  by 
the  fireside,  stitching  at  a  pair  of  new  names  he  was 
helping  his  father  to  make.  It  was  mighty  hard  on 
the  fingers,  but  he  managed  to  turn  out  a  neat  bit  of 
leather  work  at  that,  before  twilight  dimmed  the  leaded 
windows  and  supper  smoked  on  the  board. 

Between  farm  chores  and  bad  weather,  neither  Bob 
nor  Dave  found  an  opportunity  for  going  up  Ridley  to- 
gether until  a  week  had  passed  from  the  day  they  first 
put  out  their  traps.  Bob  had  looked  the  line  over  by 
himself  in  mid-week,  it  is  true,  galloping  there  on  horse- 
back, one  afternoon  when  he  could  be  spared  from  home 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  65 

but  that  was  all.  Two  coons  taken  in  the  log  sets  had 
been  his  reward.  A  proud  boy  he  was  when  he  rode  with 
them  into  Dave's  lane  on  the  way  back.  The  boys 
arranged  at  that  time  to  go  up  the  stream  on  Saturday, 
regardless  of  the  weather.  Meanwhile  they  counted  the 
days  and  wondered  if  ever  a  week  had  passed  so  slowly. 
Like  all  things  it  came  to  an  end  at  last  and  the  lads 
set  out  bright  and  early  in  the  morning.  Their  small 
success  had  whetted  their  eagerness  for  more. 

It  was  a  brilliant  winter  day,  neither  too  hot  nor 
too  cold,  but  just  enough  tang  in  the  air  to  make  both 
boys  feel  the  surge  of  keen  health.  They  walked  fast, 
swinging  along  over  the  crisp  snow  with  the  stride  that 
eats  distance  and  does  not  weary.  As  they  hurried  on, 
a  flock  of  juncos  kept  pace  with  them  for  a  field  or  two, 
flitting  busily  about  on  the  bare  twigs  of  the  sumacs 
that  lined  the  wayside  walls.  Here  and  there  a  chickadee, 
with  his  quaint,  betraying  cap  of  black,  swung  like  a  jolly 
circus  tumbler  among  the  berries  of  the  bittersweet.  All 
nature  seemed  awake,  keyed  high  to  the  sharp  cold  beauty 
of  the  day.  Just  past  the  top  of  Blue  Hill,  the  boys 
caught  a  vivid  flame  of  color  as  a  cardinal  flashed  to  the 
shelter  of  a  cedar  before  them.  It  was  all  so  clean,  so 
full  of  things  to  look  at  and  to  watch  for,  so  vitally  alive, 
this  countryside  of  theirs,  that  the  boys  could  scarce 
restrain  their  overflowing  spirits. 

"They  never  saw  a  sign  of  him  then,  Sandy  Flash,  I 
mean,  after  he  rounded  the  turn  beyond  the  Square?" 
Dave  it  was  who  spoke.  "Look,  there's  Hunting  Hill 
yonder.  Let's  cut  down  to  the  stream  across  this  field." 

"Not  a  trace,"  answered  Bob,  joining  the  other  beyond 


66  SANDY  FLASH 

the  fence.  "After  we  left  the  inn  and  came  back  to  set 
the  rest  of  the  traps,  they  hunted  round  everywhere,  far 
over  as  the  Eagle  and  down  toward  the  Buck,  but  there 
were  too  many  marks  in  the  road,  they  said.  Besides, 
his  horse  was  fresh.  I  say,  hasn't  he  got  a  wonder!  It'd 
been  resting  while  he  was  busy  with  Burgandine.  I  told 
you  we  stopped  at  the  Pratt  last  Sunday,  didn't  I?  Father 
was  over  to  the  Square  again  yesterday,  and  they  think 
Flash  must  have  gone  back  to  the  Valley  hills  in  Cain 
for  good.  He's  not  likely  to  bother  us  here  any  more." 

"Did  you  learn  whether  Burgandine  got  back  his  horse 
and  the  money?  I  mean  did  your  father  hear  of  it  yes- 
terday?" Dave's  mind  swung  round  to  the  old  farmer 
from  Newlin.  "He  surely  was  welted,  for  fair,  poor 
old  fellow!" 

"Father  says  he's  all  right.  That  Evans  man  caught 
up  with  Peter's  horse  near  the  Street  Road,  and  he  rode 
home  in  the  afternoon.  Sandy  Flash  did  get  some  stuff 
from  a  house  beyond  the  Square,  though.  They  hadn't 
heard  of  it  Sunday,  but  father  got  the  news  yesterday." 

"I  didn't  know  that!  Whose,  Bob?  What'd  he  get?" 
Bob  paused  before  replying,  collected  himself,  and  leaped 
across  a  small  stream.  The  lad  was  big  even  for  seven- 
teen, but  fit  and  close  knit,  hard  as  nails,  from  farm 
chores  and  riding.  Dave  landed  lightly  as  a  cat  beside 
him  and  they  turned  left  in  the  forest. 

"Oh,  not  much  money.  It  was  Thomas  Lewis's  place 
below  the  Pratt  House  that  he  robbed.  Some  silver,  it 
was.  Solid,  father  heard,  too.  Mugs  and  things  fetched 
out  from  Wales  in  the  old  days.  Lucky,  I'd  say,  he 
couldn't  carry  much  with  him." 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  67 

"He'll  not  be  able  to  do  anything  with  that  kind 
of  stuff,  will  he?  Reckon  he's  gone  where  he  can  lay 
hold  on  shillings  and  sovereigns  'stead  of  old  tankards! 
Pewter,  like  as  not.  We've  lots  of  it  at  home  that  came 
from  Merioneth  in  the  old  country." 

The  boys  crossed  Ridley  Creek  to  the  west  bank,  hop- 
ping from  stone  to  stone,  and  reached  the  meadow  south 
of  Hunting  Hill.  A  couple  of  rabbits  swinging  high  in 
the  sapling  snares  served  to  bring  their  minds  back  to 
the  work  in  hand.  One  had  just  been  caught;  the  fur 
was  still  soft  and  warm.  Dave,  forgetful  of  his  wood- 
craft in  his  pride  of  success,  ran  forward  with  a  cheer 
and  took  them  from  the  loops.  Putting  the  frozen  one 
in  his  bag,  he  quickly  bled  the  newly  killed  cottontail 
from  the  mouth,  propping  the  teeth  open  with  a  bit  of 
stick.  Then  he  cleaned  it  carefully  without  removing 
the  fur.  His  fingers  were  deft,  showing  he  had  done  it 
many  a  time  before.  While  he  was  busy,  Bob  reset  the 
trap  snares.  Already  the  older  lad  had  become  quite 
handy  in  the  ways  of  the  wood  and  longed  to  put  his 
new-found  knowledge  to  the  proof. 

"The  more  rabbits  we  catch,  the  better,"  Bob  finished 
setting  the  bait  on  the  trigger  stick.  "The  confounded 
things  are  ringing  all  the  young  apple  trees,  and  the 
peaches,  too,  over  in  our  orchard.  Chew  the  bark  right 
off  'em!  A  tree  can't  live  without  bark,  no  matter  how 
good's  the  trunk." 

<kl  know.  Same  at  our  place.  Glad  we  got  this  one 
fresh.  We'll  have  him  for  lunch.  Be  pretty  good  a  cold 
day  like  this!  I'll  bet  the  army's  shivering  up  by  Mount- 
joy  Forge!" 


68 

The  other  traps,  set  the  previous  Saturday,  were  visited 
in  turn  and  Bob  pointed  out  where  he  had  found  the 
two  coons  on  Wednesday  afternoon.  To-day,  the  skunk 
trap,  in  the  hole  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  proved  a  real 
disappointment.  It  had  been  sprung,  but  no  sign  ap- 
peared of  an  animal  having  been  caught  in  it.  The  bit 
of  meat,  however,  had  gone.  Dave  looked  the  hole  over 
long  and  carefully.  Then  his  eye  caught  a  telltale  sign. 

"I  thought  so!  Fox!  Vixen,  like  as  not.  It  smelled 
that  rotten  meat,  before  any  skunk  came  along,  and  it 
got  it  off  the  stick  some  way  or  other,  keeping  clear 
of  the  trap  the  while.  I  bet  she  set  it  off  on  purpose, 
too!  They're  that  crafty  and  clever."  The  lad  stood 
up,  holding  in  his  hand  a  long  reddish-brown  hair  tipped 
with  white.  He  had  picked  it  from  the  side  of  the  earth. 
"That's  fox's  brush,  sure  as  Judgment!" 

"Well,  we  don't  want  to  trap  it,  then!"  Bob's  jaws 
set  ominously.  His  tone  showed  very  decided  views  on 
that  point.  "I'm  right  glad  we  didn't  get  it.  Hope  he's 
slick  enough  to  stay  out  of  every  set  we  make!  It's  a 
shame  to  trap  a  fox  in  a  country  like  this  where  most 
all  farmers  have  a  lot  of  sport  in  winter  hunting  'em 
with  hounds.  It's  not  fair  and  I  won't  be  any  party 
to  it!" 

"Never  fear."  David  had  to  laugh  at  the  real  anger 
beginning  to  boil  up  in  his  usually  calm  and  deliberate 
chum.  "Don't  worry,  Bob,  you  old  hunting  squire! 
We'll  not  try  to  trap  or  shoot  'em  hereabouts.  Couldn't 
catch  'em  this  way  in  the  first  place,  'cept  by  luck. 
Father  tells  me  never  to  try  it,  so  you  can  rest  easy. 
You're  right,  though.  It's  different  altogether  in  other 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  69 

parts  of  the  country  where  they  can't  ride  to  hounds 
and  hunt  'em  properly  in  a  chase.  There  they  have  to 
shoot  foxes  and  trap  'em  to  keep  'em  down.  But  here 
with  all  the  hounds  there  are  about  the  townships, 
why—" 

"Yes,  I  see  that,"  Bob  was  still  doubtful,  "but  we've 
got  to  be  mighty  careful.  I  wouldn't  ruin  neighbors' 
sport  for  anything.  I  say,  let's  get  an  otter  or  a  beaver. 
That's  something  worth  while.  We  mustn't  forget  we're 
after  what'll  help  the  folks  at  home  and  the  men  across 
the  Valley  by  Tredyffrin.  They're  freezing  as  it  is." 

"I  know  it  and  I'm  with  you,  Bob.  That's  why  we're 
both  here.  Let's  set  this  skunk  trap  first,  same  as  before, 
only  without  any  bait.  It  might  catch  one  of  'em  coming 
in  and  it  won't  bring  any  foxes  here.  I'm  sure  this  is 
a  skunk's  hole."  Dave  replaced  the  trap  in  the  opening 
and  covered  it  once  more  with  pebble-weighted  leaves. 
Then  the  boys  slid  down  the  bank  and  worked  their  way 
upstream,  on  watch  for  any  sign  that  might  betray  the 
presence  of  an  otter. 

A  muskrat  colony  offered  them  a  tempting  trapping 
place,  however,  before  they  had  gone  very  far.  It  was 
too  good  to  pass  by,  so  they  stopped  to  look  it  over.  A 
small  natural  pond  had  been  formed  in  a  clearing  by 
a  collection  of  logs  wedged  against  the  boulders.  Once, 
perhaps,  the  beavers  had  laid  its  foundations,  but  the 
tracks  about  the  snowy  banks  were  unmistakable.  They 
were  very  distinct,  the  hind  feet  about  two  inches  in 
length,  the  front  ones  much  smaller.  Both  boys  recog- 
nized them  at  a  glance.  The  prints  wove  serpentine  pat- 
terns here  and  there  and  everywhere.  Between  the  foot- 


70  SANDY  FLASH 

marks  could  be  seen  the  light,  wavering  trace  that  told  of 
the  tail,  scaly,  hairless,  flattened,  carried  on  its  edge. 
The  muskrats  use  this  to  steer  by  when  swimming,  as 
both  lads  knew. 

In  the  midst  of  the  pond,  where  a  few  frozen  cat-tails 
rose  stiffly,  a  sorry  reminder  of  summer's  glory,  were 
the  muskrat  houses  themselves,  great  beehive  affairs, 
from  four  to  six  feet  in  diameter.  No  external  open- 
ings were  visible,  but  Bob  Allyn  and  Dave  knew  that 
none  were  needed.  The  younger  boy  had  learned  the 
summer  before,  and  since  explained  to  his  friend  that 
these  strange  nests  were  entered  from  beneath  the  water, 
and  that  they  were  practically  frost  proof  in  the  bitterest 
cold  of  winter.  How  air  penetrated  their  closely-woven 
sticks  and  reed  and  mud  neither  lad  knew. 

Dave  had  also  told  Bob  that  the  muskrats  seemed 
to  be  divided,  as  though  split  by  some  family  feud.  Many 
of  them,  the  builders,  he  had  found  in  houses  like  those 
before  them  in  the  pond.  Others,  which  he  called  bankers, 
seemed  to  delight  in  a  hermit's  life  off  by  themselves, 
making  their  lonely  homes  by  burrowing  up  into  some 
steep  bank  from  beneath  the  water's  edge.  The  bankers, 
especially,  made  slides  in  the  mud.  When  much  younger, 
Dave  had  once  mistaken  these  commonplace  slides  for 
the  sort  made  by  otter.  Now,  however,  he  knew  better. 

"This  is  the  best  place  we've  come  to  yet!  Look, 
Bob!"  Dave  pointed  at  the  tracks.  "Aren't  they  just 
like  a  pear  with  the  toe  marks  circling  round  in  front? 
The  hind  feet  do  most  the  swimming,  that's  why  they're 
biggest,  I  guess.  We'll  set  a  lot  of  traps  here.  You  can 
never  get  'em  in  a  deadfall  or  snare.  A  three  or  four- 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  71 

inch  spring  is  what  they  need.  Look  at  that!  They've 
been  washing  some  yellow  lily  roots  in  the  water.  They 
always  wash  what  they  eat  like  that,  then  brush  the  rest 
into  the  stream.  Wash  it  two  or  three  times.  I've  seen 
'em.  Cleanest  things  alive!" 

The  boys  noted  with  delight  all  that  promised  so  well 
for  them.  The  water  of  the  pond  had  not  frozen  over 
entirely  on  their  side  and  it  was  here  that  the  tracks  were 
most  numerous  and  the  signs  of  lily  roots  abundant. 
They  looked  like  sad  enough  fodder,  for  a  fact,  but  the 
animals  must  have  dug  them  up  from  the  unfrozen  mud 
far  below  the  surface  and  found  something  of  nourishment 
still  in  them.  Indeed,  in  winter,  when  they  cannot  get 
watercress,  they  will  eat  any  roots.  Dave  and  Bob  were 
soon  making  the  sets  and  using  the  best  woodcraft  they 
were  capable  of,  while  at  it,  as  muskrat  pelts  would  fill  a 
needed  want  in  both  their  homes.  Dave  made  the  first 
set,  placing  his  trap  in  the  shallow  water  back  of  the 
roots  of  a  great  buttonwood  that  rose  from  the  pond's 
border.  He  fastened  the  chain  to  a  pole  and  then  propped 
it  far  out. 

"That's  so's  to  drown  him  right  away,  before  he  can 
chew  his  foot  off,"  he  explained  to  Bob.  "Soon  as  ever 
he's  caught,  he'll  swim  to  deep  water  and  the  trap  will 
hold  him  down.  It  saves  him  suffering  and  it  keeps  him 
from  getting  free — both.  See?  The  stick  makes  the 
chain  hang  over  the  deep  part."  Dave  took  an  apple 
from  his  pocket,  halved  it,  tossed  a  piece  to  Bob,  then 
fixed  his  portion  on  a  stick  above  the  trap  where  the 
water  was  about  three  inches. 

Bob  put  his  trap  on  a  log  that  jutted  several  feet  into 


72  SANDY  FLASH 

the  pond  where  the  stream  showed  the  stillness  of  depth. 
He  fastened  the  chain  to  the  extreme  end.  Then  he 
made  ready  to  lay  the  half  apple  on  the  log  for  bait. 

"Try  this."  Dave  dug  down  into  his  pocket  again 
and  pulled  out  a  small  parsnip.  "It's  what  they  like  best 
of  all.  This  and  muskrat  meat,  itself.  Doubt  if  you 
catch  anything,  though,  with  the  trap  stuck  up  on  a  log 
like  a  sore  thumb.  In  the  spring,  when  water  is  really 
high  and  the  spate  has  flooded  'em  out  from  the  banks, 
then  they'll  climb  on  logs  and  things.  That's  the  time 
to  get  'em  that  way.  I  once  got  four,  though,  by  hanging 
the  traps  a  wee  mite  under  the  water,  round  the  end 
of  a  hunk  of  log  that  I  had  anchored  in  a  deep  place 
with  a  lot  of  stuff  they  liked  on  top  of  it.  Regular  supper 
party  for  'em!  They — " 

"What  do  they  like  most,  'side  from  roots?"  asked 
Bob,  still  interested  in  the  tracks. 

"Oh,  most  any  greens.  Parsnips,  best  of  all,  I  reckon, 
and  apples.  They'll  ruin  a  garden,  quick  as  a  witch,  if 
they've  half  a  chance  to  get  at  it.  Chew  up  all  the  carrots 
and  turnips  you've  got.  A  good  way  from  water,  too. 
Let's  put  a  couple  of  traps  over  the  end  of  the  log,  just 
for  luck,  with  the  apple  and  a  parsnip  hanging  so's  they 
can  see  'em  and  climb  up  to  get  'em." 

This  was  done  and  Dave  led  the  way  further  upstream. 
The  lad  was  in  his  element.  Every  bit  of  woodcraft 
shown  to  his  friend  meant  infinite  satisfaction  to  him. 
He  had  been  the  butt  of  many  a  joke  among  his  fellows 
for  wasting  his  days  tramping  about  in  the  woods  alone. 
Now  was  his  justification.  Now  was  he  able  to  prove  to 
the  other  that  his  time  had  been  well  spent,  after  all. 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  73 

Dave  was  leader  to-day,  Bob  the  pupil.  And  he  was  an 
apt  and  eager  one,  at  that.  Bob  it  was  who  first  caught 
sight  of  the  muskrat  slide  half  a  mile  above  the  pond, 
where  a  high  mud  bank  compelled  them  to  crawl  with 
considerable  care  along  the  edge  of  the  brook.  The  hole, 
visible  a  little  way  under  water,  where  the  current  was 
too  swift  for  ice,  gave  them  the  clue.  A  trap  was  set 
at  the  entrance  to  it  and  staked  far  out  over  deep  water 
as  before.  Another  trap  was  set  at  the  foot  of  the  slide. 
The  boys  used  parsnips  for  bait  at  a  third  trap,  dangling 
them  just  above  the  place  where  it  lay  on  the  bottom  a 
couple  of  inches  below  the  surface.  They  hid  their  last 
traps  right  in  the  middle  of  a  muskrat  trail  that  showed, 
deep  cut,  along  the  bank. 

"That  ought  to  answer  for  a  few  of  'em,  builders  and 
bankers,  both."  Dave  pushed  the  parsnip  bait  securely 
in  place.  "The  great  thing  with  the  rats,  Bob,  is  to 
have  the  chain  well  out  over  deep  water.  Sometimes  I 
just  tie  the  trap  to  a  long  stick,  not  fastened  to  the  bank 
at  all,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  They  swim  out  and  dive 
and  then  the  trap  holds  'em  under,  like  I  said.  Some 
people  even  weight  their  trap  a  bit,  but  I  never  do. 
Father  thinks  I  ought  to.  The  thing's  not  to  let  'em 
suffer  any  longer  than  we  can  help  and  that's  the  way 
to  do  it." 

"Why  are  the  chains  so  long?  I'd  think  they'd  stand 
a  lot  more  chance  of  getting  away  like  that  than  if  you 
made  'em  short." 

"It's  just  the  opposite.  The  longer,  the  better.  If 
the  chain's  too  short,  it  gives  'em  something  to  pull 
against  and  they'll  get  away,  nine  out  of  ten.  Anything 


74  SANDY  FLASH 

will.  If  the  chain's  long,  with  lots  of  leeway,  and  if  it's 
fast  to  something  that'll  bend  a  bit  and  give,  why,  they 
can't  get  the  steady  pull  they  need  to  break  away.  They 
can't  get  their  foot  loose.  I  like  water  sets  best,  though, 
because  you  can  always  fix  'em  so's  to  swing  into  deep 
water  and  that's  the  end  of  it. 

"How  about  dinner?    We've  got  most  the  sets  made." 

Dave  Thomas  was  not  cruel.  He  trapped  because  he 
knew  the  pelts  were  needed  and  the  money,  too.  He 
trapped  as  humanely  as  possible  with  the  material  at 
hand.  He  did  not  relish  the  thought  of  being  told  any 
of  these  things  by  the  bigger  boy.  However,  he  had  no 
need  of  worry.  Bob  was  as  hungry  as  he.  A  day  like 
this  in  the  open  would  make  any  ore  ravenous. 

A  few  moments  later  and  they  had  a  fire  going,  flint 
and  steel  serving  them  for  a  light.  The  rabbit  was 
skinned,  cut  up,  and  broiled  as  steak  over  the  glowing 
coals.  The  boys  were  old  hands  at  this  job,  both  of  them, 
and  no  time  was  wasted.  Bob  Ailyn  sat  back  against 
a  great  beech  tree,  enjoying  the  heat  that  radiated  from 
the  small  fire.  It  was  just  enough  to  warm  his  mocca- 
sined  feet  without  danger  of  cracking  the  soft  leather. 
Dave  was  cook  and  worked  away  at  his  steak  till  it  was 
done  to  a  turn. 

"I  reckon  there's  different  kinds  of  trapping  for  most 
everything,  isn't  there?"  said  Bob,  at  last,  nibbling  at  a 
hot  and  juicy  morsel  held  in  his  fingers.  "How  many 
kinds  do  you  know,  Dave?  I  say,  did  you  ever  count 
'em?" 

"Never  did,  Bob."  Dave  cleverly  skewered  a  fresh 
piece  of  meat  on  a  stick  and  went  on  with  his  broiling. 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  75 

"There're  traps  and  traps  and  still  more  traps.  And 
ways  to  use  'em  without  end.  It  depends  on  what  you're 
after.  I  divide  'em  into  three  main  lots,  myself,  but 
there're  more,  like  as  not.  I  always  think  of  the  ones 
that  crawl  and  climb  trees;  skunks  and  coons,  all  those, 
you  know.  Then  there're  the  water  ones,  the  beavers 
and  otters  and  mink  and  muskrats  and  the  like  of  that. 
Last  of  all,  there's  the  game  that  runs,  deer  and  the  big 
ones.  Foxes  and  catamounts  and  bobcats  come  in  a  class 
by  themselves,  I  reckon.  They're — " 

"Never  thought  of  splitting  'em  up  that  way.  Makes 
it  easy  to  keep  'em  clear,  doesn't  it?"  interrupted  Bob. 
"I  say,  climbers,  swimmers,  runners!  That's  fine!" 

"It's  why  I  do  it."  Dave's  mouth  was  fuller  than  it 
should  have  been,  but  Bob  contrived  to  understand  him 
in  spite  of  it.  "The  climbers,  they  want  deadfalls  or 
traps,  just  like  we've  got  out  for  'em  now.  The  runners 
want  snares.  The  swimmers,  they  have  to  have  traps. 
What's  too  weak  for  an  otter  or  a  beaver  is  too  strong 
for  a  mink  or  a  muskrat  and  that's  what  makes  it  all 
so  hard.  A  trap'll  cut  the  leg  clean  off  one  thing  and 
not  hold  another.  I  reckon  trapping's  as  clever  a  game 
as  your  horse  schooling,  most,  and  a  deal  harder  to  learn!" 
Dave's  teeth  picked  hungrily  at  a  bit  of  meat  stuck  on 
the  end  of  his  rude  wooden  spit.  Then  the  boy  laughed. 
He  knew  Bob  Allyn  was  beginning  to  appreciate  the 
woods,  as  he  had  hoped  he  would. 

"That's  a  fact,  Dave,  it  is  real  work  to  master,  but 
I'll  show  you  a  thing  or  two  about  horses  that'll  surprise 
you  one  of  these  days  when  the  ground  clears  off  a  bit. 
Turn  about's  fair  play.  There's  plenty  to  learn  in  one 


?6  SANDY  FLASH 

same  as  t'other.  The  bread's  in  the  bag  there  by  the 
stump.  Help  yourself,  and  sling  it  over.  Thanks!" 

"What  don't  you  understand  now  about  trapping, 
Bob?"  Dave  settled  himself  by  the  fire,  having  tossed 
over  the  loaf. 

"A  whole  lot,  Dave,  but  I'll  get  it  in  time.  The  hard- 
est part,  I  reckon,  is  knowing  what  to  use  as  bait  for 
each  thing.  That  and  the  scent  I've  heard  tell  of.  It 
all  seems  different.  How  can  a  fellow  keep  'em  straight?" 

"Yes,  that  is  hard.  There's  lots  and  lots  of  stuff  I've 
tried — anise-seed  oil  and  oil  of  peppermint  for  scents. 
They  smell  like  all  get  out!  Animals  can  sniff  'em  a 
long  way  off,  that  kind  of  mess,  and  follow  it  up  to  see 
what's  there.  All  that  stuff  is  good  for  a  trail  when 
you're  after  fisher — black  cat,  I  mean.  But  I  doubt  if 
any  of  'em  are  left  round  here  now.  Then  a  fine  thing 
for  bait  is  real  animal  scent.  That'll  fool  most  all  of 
Jem.  Chicken  droppings,  I  reckon,  about  tops  the  lot, 
but  I've  used  bad  meat  already,  like  we  put  in  the  skunk's 
hole  back  yonder." 

"Fine — when  foxes  don't  come  and  eat  it  'stead  of 
skunks,"  laughed  Bob. 

"A  man  once  told  me,  the  one  who  helped  make  the 
traps  over  at  Providence  forge,  that  he'd  used  manure 
from  a  sheep  pen  and  caught  more  with  that  than  any 
other  thing.  They  all  have  their  special  ways,  every 
trapper  has.  He  laid  trails  with  it  up  to  where  his  traps 
were  hidden,  and  he  buried  traps  in  it,  and  he  even  rubbed 
it  on  'em  and  on  his  shoes  and  gloves  when  he  was 
working  at  the  sets.  It's  fine.  But  we've  no  sheep  now." 

"Why  not  try  it  then  next  time?     We  have  a  nice 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  77 

flock.  Might  as  well  work  these  things  out,  Dave,  and 
see  for  ourselves  which  really  is  the  best.  I  say,  suppose 
I  bring  some  over  next  week?  We  can  give  it  a  fair 
trial,  anyway." 

"It's  the  only  way  to  learn — try  'em  out,  like  you 
say."  Dave  began  to  cover  the  fire  with  handfuls  of 
snow.  "Once  I  went  away  and  left  a  wee  bit  of  a  fire 
going.  It  very  nearly  took  all  our  woodlot  on  the  hill 
by  the  time  some  rain  came  and  put  it  out.  I  learned 
a  thing  or  two  that  time  that  I  haven't  forgotten  yet! 
Father  saw  to  that."  He  heaped  on  more  snow. 

"It's  a  mighty  good  habit  to  get  into,  Dave,  even  in 
winter."  Bob  picked  up  a  stick,  red  hot  at  one  end, 
and  twisted  it  round  and  round  on  the  ground  until  he 
had  extinguished  the  fire  amid  a  spluttering  of  sparks. 
"The  trouble  of  the  fires  in  the  woods  all  comes  to  us, 
from  the  old  Indians,  the  Lenapes,  like  Indian  Hannah 
up  at  Newlin's  rock  in  Bradford.  My  father  says  that 
when  he  was  a  boy  and  first  came  into  the  Rose  Tree 
country,  the  woods  used  to  be  burnt  over  every  year 
or  so  by  the  Delawares.  They  even  burned  the  Valley 
Hills  clear  of  brush  so  they  could  see  to  chase  the  deer 
better  when  they'd  gotten  'em  to  running  along  the  ridges. 
Then  they  burned  over  the  low  places  so's  they  could 
plant  their  corn  there  and  their  little  patches  of  tobacco. 
It  wasn't  anything  like  so  thick  in  the  woods  then  as 
now,  father  says,  but  the  trees  they  did  have  in  'em. 
were  lots  bigger  and  finer.  In  the  very  early  days  when 
the  Swedes  were  at  Upland,  a  man  could  drive  a  wheeled 
cart  straight  through  the  forest!" 

"The  white  people  copied  the  burning,"  broke  in  Dave,, 


78  SANDY  FLASH 

"but  we  didn't  use  any  sense  about  it.  Now  it  seems 
like  we  burn  the  best  woods  we  have  and  have  to  chop 
scrubby  stuff  for  the  timber  we  want!  They  had  a  ter- 
rible fire,  that  way,  down  in  Bethel,  only  last  spring." 

"This's  out  anyway."  Bob  poked  the  sodden  remains 
of  the  fire.  "It  can't  cause  harm  now.  I've  got  one 
more  rabbit  bone  to  pick,  Dave,  and  I'm  through.  How 
about  the  traps  themselves?  You  once  said  the  best 
men  put  kill-scent  on  'em.  We  didn't  do  a  thing  to  ours." 

"Oh,  everybody  thinks  something  different  about  that, 
but  for  what  we're  after  I  don't  reckon  any's  needed. 
Water  sets  don't  have  to  be  treated,  'cause  it's  no  use 
under  water,  naturally.  Coons  and  skunks  I've  often 
gotten  with  plain  traps  so  I  just  never  bother  doing  any- 
thing at  all  to  'em.  There're  lots  of  ways  of  fixing  'em, 
though." 

"That's  what  I  mean.  What's  the  best  thing  to  put 
on  a  trap,  if  a  fellow  is  out  after  some  animal  crafty 
enough  to  need  it?" 

"Rusty  traps  are  good  as  any  that  I  know  of.  Don't 
cost  anything  either,  not  even  trouble,"  replied  Dave. 
"Just  let  'em  hang  out  in  all  winds  and  weather  till  you're 
ready  to  use  'em.  The  only  bother  is  that  you  do  have 
to  mind  the  spring  getting  a  bit  too  rusty  and  the  jaws 
sticking  fast  or  moving  too  slow.  It's  a  fine  trick,  some- 
times, to  bury  traps  and  chains  and  all  in  the  chicken 
yard.  That  kills  the  man  scent  and  the  iron  smell — both. 
I  once  tried  smearing  a  trap  with  wax  and  tallow  from 
a  penny  dip,  because  I'd  heard  it  was  fine,  but  it  didn't 
work  so  wonderfully  well  for  me.  Guess  I  didn't  do  it 
right,  'cause  they  say  it's  a  pretty  fair  way  to  treat  'em. 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  79 

You've  got  to  be  careful  to  cover  the  whole  thing,  if 
you're  going  to  do  it  at  all." 

"How  about  us?  Can't  they  smell  us  folks  on  the  traps, 
the  land  sets,  when  we've  gone  and  picked  the  traps  up 
and  lugged  'em  about  and  set  'em?"  queried  Bob. 

"That's  the  hard  part,  really."  Dave  knocked  the 
damp  snow  from  his  moccasins  preparatory  to  moving 
on.  "A  fellow  ought  to  have  a  special  outfit,  I  expect, 
if  he's  trapping  real  suspicious  things  like  bobcats  and 
so  on.  I  wish  I  could  get  hold  of  a  pair  of  buckskin 
gloves  tanned  in  smoke.  They're  great!  I'll  have  to  try 
to  make  me  a  pair  this  winter  some  time.  They  can 
be  buried,  too,  in  the  barnyard,  like  the  traps.  That 
helps.  The  best  of  all,  the  very  thing  we  ought  to  have, 
are  gloves  from  a  deerskin  not  tanned  at  all.  If  I  ever 
shoot  a  buck,  that's  what  I'm  going  to  get  from  it!  My 
father  says  I'll  never  kill  a  point  stag  in  all  the  county, 
but  we'll  have  to  show  him  he's  wrong,  I  reckon." 

"Yes,  and  we'll  do  it,  too,"  laughed  Bob,  "if  ever  we 
find  the  deer.  There're  lots  I've  seen  on  the  hills,  but 
too  wild  to  get  near  'em.  Oh,  well,  smoked  gauntlets 
would  do  us  for  a  while.  We're  after  beaver  and  otter, 
first,  you  know.  They're  water  sets."  The  boy's  canny 
Scotch  mind  never  allowed  vague  possibilities  to  turn 
him  from  the  work  at  hand. 

"Yes,  and  we'd  better  be  getting  down  to  the  stream 
now,  I'm  thinking,  if  we're  ever  to  find  that  likely  place 
I  told  you  of.  If  we  did  want  deerskin  and  couldn't  get 
it,  they  say  calfskin's  nearly  as  good.  Untanned,  with 
the  hair  side  out.  We  could  easily  get  that  whenever 
we  wanted  it,  and  make  gloves  or  mittens  out  of  it,  too. 


So  SANDY  FLASH 

And  big  pads  for  the  knees.  You  have  to  have  'em  for 
when  you  kneel  fixing  the  sets.  We're  right  in  having 
moccasins  on  now,  though  you  would  like  to  have  come 
in  spurs  like  a  hunting  squire,  I'll  bet."  Dave  grinned 
good-naturedly  at  his  chum.  "A  heel  mark'll  ruin  chances 
quick  as  a  wink.  That,  and  smoking.  But  we  don't 
either  of  us  have  to  bother  about  that.  I'd  rather  have 
good  wind  than  smoke  any  day." 

The  boys  reached  the  bank  and  turned  up  Ridley,  seek- 
ing the  place  where  Dave  had  had  the  good  luck  of 
coming  upon  otter  the  previous  summer.  He  had  been 
working  his  way  along  the  stream,  north  of  the  Strasburg 
Road,  far  up  near  Dutton's  Mill,  when  he  had  heard 
faint  splashings  at  a  distance — like  stones  falling  into 
water.  Creeping  closer,  he  had  spied  a  family  of  otter 
at  play.  It  was  truly  a  remarkable  sight.  One  after 
the  other,  the  sleek-coated,  glistening  creatures  had 
climbed  the  steep  bank  by  a  well-beaten  path.  Then 
they  had  moved  to  the  top  of  the  slide  in  a  series  of 
awkward  leaps — their  characteristic  gait.  The  boy  had 
watched  them  long,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  while  they 
slid.  It  fascinated  him  as  nothing  had  ever  done  before. 

Again  and  again  they  had  climbed  from  the  stream 
and  coasted,  flat  on  their  bellies,  down  the  smooth  mud 
furrow  with  a  splash  to  the  water  below.  The  slide  was 
eight  or  ten  inches  wide  and  as  high  as  the  bank.  It 
led  into  the  deepest  part  of  the  pool.  As  each  otter 
slipped  downward  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  front  legs 
pressed  closed  back  to  its  side,  the  slot  became  wetter 
and  more  slippery.  An  involuntary  movement  on  Dave's 
part  had  ended  the  play  and  sent  the  startled  animals 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  81 

diving  from  sight  beneath  the  surface.  He  had  searched 
the  place  and  found  the  hole,  however,  about  a  foot  wide, 
in  the  bank.  The  other  entrance  was,  he  knew,  some- 
where under  water.  Probably  deep  behind  the  roots  of 
an  ancient  chestnut  tree  where  the  stream  had  swung  in- 
ward and  hollowed  out  the  shore  line.  Five-toed  tracks 
had  printed  the  mud  all  about  and  a  half-eaten  catfish 
on  the  grass  had  told  the  boy  what  the  otters  were  dining 
on.  He  had  laid  the  whole  story  away  in  his  mind  for 
use  in  the  winter.  This  was  one  of  Dave's  treasure  troves 
of  memory  and  he  guarded  it  well.  Now  he  and  Bob 
were  nearing  the  spot  and  both  lads'  excitement  rose 
proportionately.  This  was  to  be  the  real  test.  This 
would  prove  their  claim  to  the  brotherhood  of  trappers, 
the  clan  of  the  woodsmen.  Their  tramp  of  many  miles 
through  forest  and  field,  bog  and  thicket  was  forgotten. 

The  stream  just  below  the  pool  turned  from  its  course 
in  an  ox-bow  bend.  Dave,  already  clever  woodsman 
enough  to  remember  this,  left  the  bank  and  cut  across 
through  the  brush.  By  so  doing  he  unexpectedly  stumbled 
upon  another  important  bit  of  otter  history,  for  quite 
by  accident  he  noticed  the  unmistakable  leaping  tracks 
of  that  animal  in  the  snow  before  him.  Clearly,  otters, 
too,  knew  the  value  of  short  cuts  and  used  them.  Eagerly 
Dave  followed  the  marks,  Bob  close  behind  him.  The 
awkward  tracks  ended  at  the  pool,  now  partially  open, 
partially  frozen.  Both  lads  shouted  with  glee,  forgetful 
of  all  save  the  fact  that  otters  were  still  here — if  they 
themselves  were  true  trappers  enough  to  catch  them. 

It  did  not  take  them  long  to  get  everything  ready. 
They  made  the  set  with  a  toothed  trap  of  good  size.  It 


82  SANDY  FLASH 

was  their  only  large  one.  They  put  it  just  in  the  middle 
of  the  slide  which  was  visible  for  all  the  ice  and  snow. 
Dave  laid  the  trap  carefully  there,  about  six  inches  under 
water  and  covered  it  with  a  handful  of  wet  leaves,  too 
heavy  to  wash  off.  Bob  meanwhile  cut  a  stick,  eight  or 
ten  feet  long,  and  fastened  the  four-foot  chain  to  it. 
This  pole  he  made  secure  to  the  bank,  the  other  end  ex- 
tending out  over  the  deep  water.  It  was  the  same  arrange- 
ment Dave  had  used  for  muskrats,  only  larger.  The 
younger  boy  watched  it  all  with  approval.  His  chum  was 
coming  on  famously  in  wild  lore. 

"That's  fine,  Bob!  If  it  thaws  a  bit  and  they  begin 
to  use  the  slide,  we'll  get  one  sure  as  preaching.  Wish 
we  could  find  a  beaver  dam,  though.  It's  easy  to  get  an 
otter  there,  sometimes,  just  at  the  foot  of  the  spillway, 
so  they  say.  Queer  we  never  saw  beaver  signs  before 
we  got  this  far  along." 

"Yes,  I  was  sure  we  would  have." 

While  Bob  made  fast  the  long  pole,  Dave  turned  his 
attention  toward  exploring  the  bank,  unable  to  forego 
the  chance  of  gaining  some  new  trick  of  the  wood  while 
he  had  an  opportunity  for  it.  Suddenly  he  called  out 
excitedly,  so  strange  in  tone  that  the  other  boy  sprang  up. 

"Here,  Bob!  Quick!  I've  found  a  track  big  as  a 
bear!  And  another —  Oh,  I  say — "  The  boy,  in  his 
excitement,  lost  his  balance  and  slipped  down  the  snow, 
barely  saving  himself  a  ducking  in  frigid  Ridley.  An 
instant  later  he  had  climbed  again  to  the  hole.  Bob 
joined  him  there  and  together  they  studied  the  prints. 
They  were  otter,  by  all  odds  the  largest  they  had  ever 
seen.  But  it  was  not  the  animal  tracks  alone  which 


THE  RIDLEY  OTTER  83 

brought  them  to  their  knees,  studying  the  marks  in  per- 
plexity. 

"It's  the  biggest  otter  trail  I  ever  heard  tell  of,  Bob!' 
But — "  Dave  pointed  toward  a  bootprint  on  the  bank 
close  by.  "But  somebody's  after  him  already!  We're 
too  late!"  The  lad's  voice  quivered  and  almost  shook 
with  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment.  He  had 
counted  on  this  far  more  deeply  than  he  realized. 

"Yes,  and  he's  gone  and  put  his  own  trap  in  the  hole, 
itself,  for  certain  sure!  Oh,  I  say!" 

Bob  Allyn  broke  off  unexpectedly  and  reached  into 
the  opening  as  far  as  his  arm  would  go.  He  did  so, 
gingerly,  fearful  of  a  crushed  finger  or  a  broken  hand. 
Dave  could  scarcely  keep  his  eyes  from  the  splendid 
five-toed  tracks  beside  him.  They  told  of  a  king  among 
otters  and  he  knew  it.  For  the  first  time,  he  felt  hope- 
ful of  winning  the  most  difficult  creature  of  the  woodland. 

"Can  you  feel  it?  Where's  the  chain?"  Dave's  eyes 
flitted  here  and  there  about  the  earth's  mouth.  "By 
crickets,  we  may  get  an  otter  yet,  Bob,  and  fool  'em  all!" 

"Don't  know,  Dave,  but  look  what  I  have  gotten  T 
What  do  you  make  of  that!" 

The  boy  had  pulled  his  arm  out  quickly  and  now  sat 
back  on  his  hunkers.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  small  silver 
mug  of  antique  fashioning,  somewhat  dirty  from  the  dry 
earth  of  the  hole,  but  still  polished  and  twinkling  in  the 
afternoon  light  as  he  turned  it  about.  On  the  one  side 
were  initials.  Both  lads  cried  out  instinctively  as  they 
read  the  letters  together — an  old-fashioned  T,  followed 
by  an  L. 

"What  the — where — how — "    Dave's  voice  failed  him. 


84  SANDY  FLASH 

Bob  seemed  cool,  although  he  was  fighting  hard  to  keep 
under  his  own  excitement. 

"Don't  you  see!    I  reached  in  to  feel  for  a  trap,  and — " 
"It's — do  you  think — could  it  be  Thomas  Lewis's — " 
"Whose  else!     It  must  be  his!     And  it's  not  been  in 
the  damp  long,  either!"    Bob  struck  the  cup  on  his  knee, 
knocking  out  the  earth.    "Oh,  I  say,  can't  you  under- 
stand?   Can't — we've  gone  and  tracked  the  biggest  otter 
of  'em  all,  Davey,  lad,  but  this  is  bigger  still.    It's  Sandy 
Flash  himself!" 


CHAPTER  V 


BOB'S  hand  shook  a  little  as  he  held  the  silver 
tankard.  Vainly  he  strove  to  appear  unconcerned, 
but  the  importance  of  the  find  was  too  much  even  for 
his  steady  nature.  Dave,  equally  tense,  collected  his 
wits  first.  This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  his  woodland 
training  had  helped  develop  in  him — this  facing  of  sud- 
den crises  that  called  for  action  on  the  moment.  The 
lad's  Welsh  brain  was  keen  and  quick. 

"Bob,  we've  got  to  find  out  where  he  is!  He's  still 
close  by.  He  must  be!  Let's  try  to  trail  him  to  his 
hiding  place.  And  get  the  men  together ! " 

"Easy  to  say,  hard  to  do! "  This  laconically  from  Bob, 
who  had  been  getting  himself  in  hand,  too.  "Sandy  Flash 
has  been  here.  He's  come  along  the  creek  after  robbing 
Thomas  Lewis's  and  he's  seen  this  hole  and  pushed  the 
silver  cup  in  it.  He  must  have  planned — " 

"Maybe  there's  more  here!  He  made  off  with  quite 
a  bit,  you  said."  The  younger  boy  jammed  his  arm  into 
the  otter  opening,  but  nothing  further  was  found. 

Bob  Allyn  and  Dave  wasted  little  time  in  vainly 
searching  further,  but  their  haste  in  leaving  the  pond  of 
the  otters  proved  fruitless.  They  tracked  the  highway- 
man's bootprints  for  a  little  way,  then,  as  on  a  previous 
occasion,  the  marks  disappeared  among  a  tumbled  pile 
of  rocks  and  boulders  that  pushed  through  the  snow 


86  SANDY  FLASH 

along  the  brookside.  Bob,  the  fox  hunter,  cast  about  in 
a  wide  circle,  hoping  to  strike  the  trail  further  on,  but 
not  so  much  as  a  single  track  rewarded  him.  Sandy 
Flash  had  no  intention  of  being  followed  and,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  care  to  leap  from  rock 
to  rock,  as  he  left  the  neighborhood  of  his  treasure.  After 
an  hour  spent  in  working  along  both  sides  of  Ridley,  the 
boys  finally  gave  it  up.  And  wisely.  Already  the  after- 
noon was  growing  late  and  they  had  a  long  walk  home. 

Putting  the  cup  in  the  bag  with  the  frozen  rabbit  from 
the  snare,  they  turned  south.  An  hour  later  they  had 
climbed  to  the  higher  ground  of  the  ridge  where  Provi- 
dence Road  offered  fair  going.  At  the  lane  near  Blue 
Hill,  they  parted;  Dave  to  hurry  on  to  his  house  with 
the  story  of  Thomas  Lewis's  silver,  Bob  Allyn  to  follow 
the  narrower  way  downhill,  eager  to  reach  Sycamore 
Mills  in  time  for  supper.  Before  they  said  good-by,  how- 
ever, it  had  been  agreed  between  them  that  they  would 
get  in  touch  the  next  day  and  join  the  men  in  further 
search,  if  a  posse  of  farmers  should  decide  to  go  out  once 
more  in  an  attempt  to  run  down  Sandy  Flash.  Neither 
lad  realized  at  the  time  that  it  was  Saturday  afternoon. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  nothing  was  done  on  Sunday  be- 
yond a  vain  search  for  the  rest  of  the  silver  up  and  down 
the  Ridley  Woodlands.  None  of  the  neighboring  farm- 
ers of  Providence  felt  it  worth  his  while  to  take  up  the 
wild-goose  chase  that  had  failed  so  signally  the  week 
before  when  supported,  as  it  was  then,  by  a  red-hot  trail. 
Dave  saw  no  more  of  his  chum  until  the  end  of  the  week, 
when,  chores  attended  to,  Bob  rode  over  bright  and  early, 
merrily  calling  outside  the  Thomases'  windows: 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  87 

"Hey,  there!  I  say,  Dave!  Oh,  Dave!  How  about 
riding  over  to  the  traps  this  morning?  We  can  get  there 
lots  quicker  than  walking  and  easily  see  to  the  sets.  Did 
we  have  luck  last  Thursday?  You  got  over,  didn't  you?" 

Dave  was  out  of  the  house  with  a  cheer  before  Bob 
had  swung  clear  of  the  saddle.  The  big  lad's  horse 
snorted  and  shied  away  from  the  enthusiasm  of  the  boys' 
greeting. 

"To-day?  Finest  thing  can  be!  Wait,  Bob,  and  I'll 
ask  father  let  me  take  Duffryn.  He  needs  some  work, 
that  horse  does,  and  a  bit  of  a  go  like  this'll  just  fix 
him.  Only  a  minute!"  Dave  Thomas  bolted  into  the 
house.  A  moment  later  he  returned,  his  warwhoop  of 
joy  proclaiming  the  good  news. 

Hugh  Thomas  had  noted  with  considerable  satisfaction 
the  faithfulness  with  which  his  son  had  been  attending 
to  the  farm  chores  since  he  had  given  him  permission 
to  trap  regularly.  What  extra  time  he  had  allowed  the 
boy  to  go  with  Bob  on  Saturdays  and  occasionally  during 
the  week  by  himself,  had  been  mighty  well  spent,,  accord- 
ing to  his  reckoning.  Farmer  Thomas  was  shrewd.  Not 
vainly  did  the  canny  blood  of  Merionethshire  run  strong 
in  him.  If  he  could  keep  his  boy  interested  in  manly 
outdoor  sports,  in  the  real  joy  of  the  countryside,  why 
so  much  less  were  the  chances  of  the  lad  growing  rest- 
less and  wanting  to  drift  off  to  the  army  before  he  was 
old  enough  to  think  of  that.  Dave's  longing  for  trap- 
ping and  the  life  of  the  wilderness,  his  way  of  wander- 
ing off  by  himself,  was  not  without  its  dangerous  side 
in  the  mind  of  his  father.  The  man  recognized  these 
tendencies  and  sought  to  offer  something  to  satisfy  them, 


88  SANDY  FLASH 

something  to  fill  the  natural  drift  of  the  boy  and  give 
him  what  he  wanted  while  still  on  the  farm.  He  knew 
that  trapping  was  a  form  of  service  to  the  freezing  men 
at  Valley  Forge  as  well  as  a  needful  help  to  conditions 
at  home.  Accordingly,  when  Dave  burst  into  the  kitchen 
with  his  plea  for  a  chance  to  ride  Duffryn  to  the  sets  up 
Ridley,  Hugh  Thomas  gave  ready  consent. 

Five  minutes  later,  the  boys  were  on  their  way,  trot- 
ting along  toward  Hunting  Hill.  Dave  told  briefly  of 
his  failure  to  find  anything  when  he  had  looked  the  line 
over  on  Wednesday  afternoon.  Near  the  rabbit-snare 
meadow,  the  younger  boy  swung  off,  throwing  his  mount's 
reins  to  his  comrade. 

"Lead  him  round  for  me,  by  Edgemont  corner,  will 
you,  Bob,  and  I'll  meet  you  on  the  road.  Near  the  ford. 
It  won't  take  me  long  to  run  down  here  and  look  over 
the  sets  we've  got  in  the  hollow.  Then  I'll  join  you 
and  we  can  cover  the  whole  line  on  foot." 

"All  right,  Dave.  We  can  see  to  the  other  traps  further 
up  best  that  way — the  rest  of  'em.  I  hope  we've  had 
some  luck!  The  best  place  we've  come  across  anywhere 
on  Ridley  is  that  otter  pond.  It'd  be  worth  while  to 
get  that  big  fellow!  It's  the—" 

"It's  the  biggest  otter  Ridley  water  ever  saw!  Or 
the  whole  county,  I  guess,  for  the  matter  of  that!  Say, 
steer  clear  of  Sandy  Flash  if  you  come  across  him  hiding 
any  more  stuff!  He  might  tie  you  up  and  spank  you  with 
a  hickory  stick!" 

Both  chums  laughed,  and  the  bigger  boy  rode  off, 
leading  Duffryn.  He  could  ride,  could  Bob  Allyn,  ride 
with  the  best  of  them.  Practice  had  given  him  his  seat, 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  89 

his  closely  gripping  thighs,  but  his  hands,  light  and  gentle 
on  the  reins  as  any  woman's,  were  the  inborn  gift  of  a 
horseman.  True  hands  are  part  of  one's  nature;  no 
amount  of  training  can  give  them  to  one  who  has  not 
been  blessed  in  the  first  place  with  this  crowning  at- 
tribute of  the  rider. 

Dave's  tour  of  the  trap  line  was  short,  but  well  worth 
the  trouble.  His  first  haul  offered  a  rabbit  in  the  snare 
loop  and  another  in  the  coon  set  at  the  hollow  log. 
The  last  was  disappointing,  but  trapper's  luck,  so  the 
lad  made  the  best  of  it.  The  second  log  set  showed  two 
sprung  traps,  empty,  but  no  trail  of  any  kind.  A  fresh 
fall  of  snow  accounted  for  that  much,  but  he  could  find 
no  hint  of  how  they  had  been  sprung.  Dave,  none  too 
cheerful,  hurried  on  to  the  skunk  set  on  the  hillside. 
Here,  he  had  been  successful.  Surely  this  was  an  agree- 
able change  from  the  blank  he  had  drawn  on  Wednesday 
last.  This  was  the  sort  of  luck  that  set  his  eyes  to 
sparkling  with  eagerness,  that  thrilled  his  whole  body  with 
the  surge  of  living.  He  had  scored  a  point  in  the  game 
of  outdoor  chance. 

A  large  skunk  was  in  the  trap,  a  big  fellow,  evidently 
recently  caught,  as  there  was  no  sign  of  an  attempt  to 
gnaw  at  the  imprisoned  foot.  The  boy  got  a  stick,  chose 
a  strategic  position  well  above  the  hole  and  worked  at 
the  chain.  It  was  not  long  before  the  animal,  in  answer 
to  the  jerking  of  the  trap,  had  discharged  the  last  of 
its  scent,  filling  the  hole  and  the  ground  below  it  with 
suffocating,  choking  stench — like  the  odor  of  burning 
rubber,  only  infinitely  worse.  Then  Dave  risked  it  and 
managed  to  get  the  chain  undone,  keeping  back  from 


90  SANDY  FLASH 

and  above  the  hole.  He  tried  not  to  breathe.  Indeed, 
he  was  hardly  able  to.  A  turn  or  two  of  the  chain  about 
the  end  of  his  long  stick  and  he  had  retreated  to  one 
side.  Then,  not  waiting  for  the  animal  to  secrete  any 
more  scent  fluid,  he  pulled  it  from  the  hole  and  swung 
it  down  the  bank  deep  in  the  waters  of  Ridley.  A  few 
moments  later  he  drew  it  out  dead. 

Dave  looked  at  the  rich,  thick  fur  of  the  pelt.  It  was 
a  beauty,  undeniably,  and  prime  to  a  day.  The  color 
was  almost  solid,  scarcely  a  touch  of  white  on  it.  The 
tail  was  bushy  and  full.  The  animal  was  well  above 
average  size.  This,  indeed,  had  been  a  catch  worth  while 
— one  that  served  to  restore  the  lad  to  higher  spirits. 
Happily,  he  hung  the  body  of  the  skunk  to  a  low  branch 
where  it  could  dry  out  of  harm's  way.  Then  he  rinsed 
his  hands  in  the  brook  and  hurried  up  the  hill,  whistling 
merrily  as  he  climbed. 

A  moment  later,  he  recalled  the  muskrat  pond  further 
along  stream,  so  he  turned  back  and  cut  through  the 
underbrush  to  look  it  over.  These  traps  were  as  lucky 
as  the  skunk  set,  for  each  held  a  muskrat  securely.  The 
stick  had  worked  just  as  planned  and  the  animal  in  that 
particular  set  had  been  swung  out  into  deep  water  and 
drowned.  The  two  traps  at  the  end  of  the  log  had  ac- 
counted for  their  catch  in  like  fashion.  At  the  rat  slide, 
however,  farther  along  Ridley,  one  trap  had  not  been 
sprung,  although  the  parsnip  was  gone.  Dave  decided 
it  might  have  fallen  off  its  stick,  so  he  put  another  in 
its  place.  He  took  two  muskrats  from  the  other  sets. 
Replacing  the  traps,  he  hastened  onward  by  the  stream, 
eager  to  rejoin  his  companion  with  the  story  of  their 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  91 

surpassing  luck.  Two  rabbits,  one  large  skunk,  five  musk- 
rats,  this  was  a  red-letter  day  for  sure.  Then  there  was 
still  the  otter  pond.  That  would  be  the  real  test  of 
their  ability.  Dave  walked  fast  and  soon  had  reached 
the  edge  of  the  Strasburg  Road.  He  caught  sight  of 
Bob  waiting  for  him  there  near  the  ford. 

"I  say,  thought  you'd  been  tied  to  a  tree  this  time! 
What  kept  you  so  long?"  Bob's  voice  carried  shrilly 
across  the  snow.  "See  we've  had  luck — how  many? 
What'd  we  get?" 

"Five!"  Dave  lifted  his  heavy  bundle  of  muskrats 
and  swung  them  high,  so  that  the  other  boy  might  see. 
Truly  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  hold  them  up. 
"Five  of  these,  Bob!  And  a  skunk,  too!  The  biggest 
fellow  you  ever  saw!  Left  him  by  the  creek.  And  two 
rabbits.  They're  both—" 

"Steer  clear  of  me,  laddybuck,  if  you've  been  meddling 
with  a  polecat!"  Bob  made  pretense  to  run  away.  "Oh, 
well,  reckon  you'll  do  long  as  you  stay  down  wind! 
I've  left  the  horses  in  that  barn  near  Edgemont.  The 
MacAfees'.  Cunningham,  their  man,  said  it  was  all  right. 
They're  out  of  the  cold  there." 

"That's  fine.  Now  we  can  work  up  the  creek  on 
shank's  mare  and  get  to  the  pond  in  no  time.  I'll  bet — " 
The  boy  ceased  speaking  as  his  chum  broke  in  excitedly. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Dave!  Look  over  yonder!  Quick!  The 
beauty!  it's — "  Bob  dropped  his  bundle  of  traps  in 
the  snow  and  ran  up  the  wayside  bank  pointing  toward 
a  treeless  knoll  a  few  hundred  yards  south  of  the  road. 

Silhouetted  against  the  cold  sky  of  early  winter  stood 
an  antlered  stag,  a  white-tailed  kingly  creature  from  beam 


92  SANDY  FLASH 

to  pointed  tine,  alert,  head  high,  its  questing  nose  swing- 
ing here  and  there  to  the  breeze.  Dave  gasped,  then  hissed 
at  his  chum: 

"Be  quiet,  Bob!     Oh,  can't  you  be  still!     You'll—" 

It  was  too  late.  The  head  with  its  glorious  crown  of 
points  swung  round  sharply,  the  delicate  nostrils  ringed 
wide  and  red,  blowing  a  cloudy  breath  of  challenge  upon 
the  frost-keen  air.  There  was  a  flash  of  grayish  flank, 
as  the  stag  turned  and  leaped,  then  the  white  flag  of  the 
tail  bobbed  and  fell  from  sight  and  bobbed  to  view  again 
and  was  gone  beyond  the  swell  of  the  hill.  Madly  the 
boys  broke  through  the  fence  line,  loudly  they  cheered, 
but  any  thought  of  chase  was  out  of  the  question.  They 
had  no  guns;  the  tracks  proved  hopeless. 

As  they  gazed  out  across  the  bowl  of  the  valley  toward 
the  Edgemont  ridge,  over  the  icy  sheen  of  Ridley,  east- 
ward up  the  slopes,  they  caught  their  last  view  and  wel- 
comed it  with  a  ringing  halloa !  The  spot  moved  steadily 
on  across  the  snowy  upland.  Once  only  did  it  stop  as 
it  topped  a  rise,  pausing  to  glance  back,  sharp  etched  again 
against  the  sky.  The  boys  could  do  nothing.  Sadly  they 
pointed  and  longed  for  hound  or  gun.  The  next  moment 
the  stag  passed  from  sight,  as  it  sank  the  hill. 

"That's  the  thing  for  us,  Dave!  I  say,  we've  got  to 
get  him!  Just  got  to!  I'd  rather  have  that  buck  than 
the  king  otter  itself!  Almost!  Wouldn't  you?  We'll 
come  out  here  again  with  guns  and  stalk  it!  I  told  you 
there  were  still  lots  of  deer  about!" 

"First  of  all,  we'll  never  come  to  Hunting  Hill  or 
anywhere  else  without  a  gun!  I'll  tell  you  that  for  fair! 
Never  again  long  as  I  have  anything  to  say  about  it. 


T3 

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bd 


bJC 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  93 

Why  the  deuce  couldn't  you  keep  still,  Bob,  when  he 
came  so  close  on  the  little  hill  there?  It's  fine  to  talk 
of  plenty  of  deer,  just  after  you've  gone  and  scared  the 
biggest  one  we've  seen  clean  away.  Wait  till  your  father 
hears  that!" 

Still  arguing  hotly,  the  lads  turned  back  from  their 
vain  pursuit.  Picking  up  the  muskrats,  they  crossed  the 
road  and  kept  on  by  the  side  of  the  creek,  seeking  the 
luck  that  might  await  them  at  the  otter  pond.  Each 
boy  was  out  of  sorts.  They  knew  they  had  acted  in  a 
way  that  would  have  brought  upon  them  the  scorn  of 
any  woodsman. 

As  they  entered  the  fringe  of  forest  that  veiled  the 
hollow,  a  man  armed  with  a  gun  stepped  from  the  coppice 
behind  the  knoll  where  the  stag  had  first  broken  view. 
Catching  sight  of  the  boys,  he  watched  them  in  silent 
anger  till  they  had  rounded  a  bend.  Apparently,  he  had 
been  following  close  upon  the  animal  when  they  had 
startled  it  to  flight.  Now  with  a  muttered  curse,  he  stood 
looking  after  them. 

"Hum!  Fine  enough  ye  be  at  trappin',  fine  enough, 
me  hearties!  But  a  bit  too  close  to  home."  He  noted 
the  lay  of  the  landscape  about  him  glumly.  "Beside, 
I  can't  have  ye  scarin'  away  any  more  stags.  An'  me 
hard  after  stalkin'  it  to  a  shot,  the  neatest  buck  that 
steps  the  Three  Counties !  Trappin',  is  it?  Hum!  Ye'll 
be  back,  little  fear.  Ye'll  be  passin'  by  this  way,  me 
beauties,  soon  enough.  A  royal  welcome  ye'H  find  waitin'! 
That  ye  will!" 

Closely  and  long  Sandy  Flash  studied  the  fringe  of 
woodland  that  marked  the  brook  below.  Then  sullenly 


94  SANDY  FLASH 

the  man  turned  and  strode  off  among  the  chestnuts  toward 
Hunting  Hill. 

Meanwhile,  Bob  and  Dave,  unperturbed  by  suspicion 
that  they  were  being  watched  from  above,  walked  on- 
ward through  the  brookside  beeches,  intent  only  upon 
the  buck  they  had  seen  and  the  anticipation  of  the  otter 
sets.  Twenty  minutes  after  crossing  the  Strasburg  Road, 
the  boys  were  deep  in  the  little  glen  that  hid  the 
stream  below  Dutton's  Mill.  The  otter  pond  was  soon 
reached.  Dave,  forcing  his  way  ahead,  came  first  to  the 
high  bank.  Down  he  slid,  his  eyes  everywhere  seeking 
signs  of  recent  tracks  in  the  freshly  fallen  snow.  He 
was  not  disappointed,  for  the  same  peculiarly  awkward, 
leaping  footprints  that  they  had  noticed  before  showed 
that  the  otters  had  been  moving  about  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  slide  since  their  last  visit.  As  Bob  came  up, 
they  both  caught  sight  of  the  pole  to  which  their  trap 
chain  had  been  fastened.  It  was  leaning  at  a  sharp  angle 
well  out  over  the  stream.  The  lads  shouted  together 
at  this  discovery,  too  keen  to  heed  the  tradition  of  the 
forest — silence.  But  their  joy  gave  place  to  chagrin  when 
they  had  pulled  the  trap  to  shore. 

It  had  been  sprung.  An  otter  had  been  responsible 
for  that,  as  a  tuft  of  fur,  sleek,  brown  fur,  of  finest 
texture,  soon  proved.  Dave  looked  the  trap  over  thor- 
oughly, turning  it  about  in  his  hands.  Fast  between  the 
powerful  iron  jaws,  the  bit  of  pelt  told  the  tale.  It  was 
not  a  foot,  as  he  had  at  first  supposed,  but  a  wad  nipped 
from  the  chest  of  the  animal.  The  color  showed  him 
that.  Clearly  the  otter  had  come  off  from  its  encounter 
with  the  trap  set  but  little  the  worse  for  the  ordeal.  And 


95 

doubtless  a  good  deal  the  wiser.  It  was  patent  it  must 
have  learned  a  lesson  of  experience  likely  to  make  fur- 
ther success  with  a  trap  well-nigh  out  of  the  question. 

"Know  what's  done  it?"  questioned  Bob  at  length. 
"We  nearly  got  him,  sure  enough,  didn't  we?"  The  feud 
over  the  stag  had  slipped  from  his  mind  with  a  facility 
that  boyhood  alone  can  command. 

"It's  hard  to  say  just  what  did  happen."  Dave  sprung 
the  toothed  jaws  open,  allowing  the  bit  of  fur  to  fall 
to  the  ground.  Picking  it  up,  he  went  on.  "That's  otter, 
all  right.  Looks  to  me  like  one  of  'em  must  have  been 
swimming  or  ducking  about  near  the  slide  a  few  inches 
under  where  it  isn't  frozen.  Maybe  he  tried  to  coast 
down  it  a  little  way.  Must  have  stumbled  on  the  trap 
somehow,  belly  first,  so  that  his  chest  hit  it  'stead  of  his 
foot.  See?  They're  so  darned  quick  and  squirmy,  just 
like  eels,  you  know.  I  reckon  he  twisted  out  of  it  before 
the  spring  could  close  on  more  than  a  bit  of  his  hair." 
The  lad  allowed  the  trap  to  snap  shut  with  a  metallic 
clash. 

"I  say!  That's  speed!"  Bob  whistled.  "You're  right 
enough,  I  guess.  No  other  way  for  it  to  happen.  Bet  we'll 
never  get  him  again — that  one.  Hope  to  goodness  it 
wasn't  the  big  fellow!  What  now?  There're  tracks 
enough  about  to — " 

"Try  for  'em  again  the  same  way.  All  I  know  to  do. 
They're  here  all  right,  a-plenty.  Look  at  that  log  over 
there.  The  poplar  trunk  running  out  in  the  water.  See 
the  pile  of  droppings  on  the  end?  Otter  droppings,  that 
is.  It's  one  of  their  regular  ways.  It's  up  to  us  to  go  get 
'em.  They're  waiting  for  us,  Bob!" 


96  SANDY  FLASH 

Between  them,  they  reset  the  trap  in  the  slide  about 
six  inches  below  the  surface  of  the  water.  Then  they 
fixed  the  long  stick  with  the  chain  exactly  as  they  had 
done  before.  Neither  lad  felt  much  hope  of  success,  yet 
on  the  other  hand,  they  realized  how  very  near  they 
must  have  come  to  attaining  it  when  the  fur  had  been 
snipped  from  the  very  breast  of  the  animal  before  it  had 
made  good  its  escape. 

"The  trouble  with  otter  is  that  they're  just  about  the 
slickest  thing  that  swims,"  said  Dave  disconsolately,  as 
they  ended  their  work.  "It's  harder  to  get  one  than  most 
anything  'cept  fox.  We  might  try — " 

"None  of  them  for  us!"  Bob  was  instantly  on  guard. 
"You  know  I  told  you  foxes  were  the  one  thing  we 
wouldn't  go  for.  My  father — " 

"Only  said  they  were  hard  to  get."  Dave  chuckled 
in  delight  at  the  way  his  friend  had  risen  to  the  bait. 
"Hold  your  horses,  Bob!  I'm  getting  to  be  a  bit  of  a 
fox  hunter  myself !  I'm  not  going  to  kill  any  more  ground- 
hogs these  days,  either,  'cause  they're  the  fellows  that  dig 
the  holes  the  foxes  use.  Guess  you  knew  that?  How 
about  working  along  upstream?  I've  got  a  small  trap 
in  my  pocket  that  we  could  use  for  mink.  We  might  find 
a  likely  place  for  'em." 

"Fine!  We've  lots  of  time.  It's  hardly  noon  by  the 
sun.  We  can  ride  home  quickly  afterwards.  I'd  like  to 
get  a  nice  mink  pelt  for  my  mother." 

"I  heard  David  Cunningham  say  there're  plenty  of  'em 
up  here  where  the  creek's  narrow  in  the  hollow.  Guess 
we'd  better  move  along." 

Epth  boys  set  great  store  by  the  woodcraft  of  the 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  97 

friendly  man  who  worked  on  the  farm  of  William  Mac- 
Afee  just  north  of  the  Strasburg  Road  between  Edge- 
mont  and  Castle  Rock.  His  hints  nearly  always  proved 
sound.  They  moved  off  now  in  Indian  file,  Dave  leading. 

This  time  the  boys  made  slow  progress,  as  it  was  nec- 
essary to  keep  a  close  watch  for  tracks  along  the  very 
border  of  the  water  and  here  it  was  hardest  for  them  to 
walk.  A  good  hour  passed  before  they  found  what  they 
wanted.  It  was  time  well  spent.  No  doubt  remained  as 
to  the  presence  of  mink  when  luck  finally  came,  far  up 
past  the  mill,  where  Ridley  narrowed  and  wound  its  way 
across  the  Barrens.  The  dead  body  of  a  muskrat  first 
caught  the  boys'  eyes.  It  lay  on  the  bank,  close  by  the 
water's  edge.  A  clean-cut  incision  in  the  neck  showed 
where  the  blood  had  been  sucked  from  the  animal  to  the 
last  drop.  The  flesh  was  not  otherwise  torn. 

"Mink!"  Dave  picked  up  the  muskrat  and  turned  in 
triumph  toward  Bob.  "They're  at  it  like  cats  and  dogs 
all  the  time!  Mink  and  muskrat  never  stop  fighting,  you 
know.  A  mink's  as  wicked  as  a  weasel,  most,  when  it 
comes  to  killing  and  sucking  blood.  Cunny  was  telling 
me  that  they'd  go  for  anything  to  get  bloody  meat.  Even 
a  little  lamb  or  a  pig!  That's  true.  He's  seen  'em  at  it." 

"Did  you  ever  catch  one?"  Bob,  practical  as  ever  and 
steadfast  to  the  work  in  hand,  looked  at  the  stiff  carcass. 
"How?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Cubbies  are  best.  Got  one  or  two  of  'em 
last  year  that  way.  Water  sets  are  all  right,  though. 
We'd  better  try  one  of  those  to-day  and  make  a  cubby 
later  on  when  we've  more  time." 

Dave  studied  the  tracks  that  told  of  the  fight  between 


98  SANDY  FLASH 

the  mink  and  the  unfortunate  muskrat.  The  bank  rose 
sharply  here,  to  his  left,  leaving  a  narrow  strand  along 
which  the  mink  had  evidently  been  walking  when  the  at- 
tack began.  The  boy,  all  eagerness  as  he  read  the  marks, 
pointed  them  out  to  Bob.  He  was  literally  seeing  that 
fight  in  his  mind's  eye,  living  it  himself  from  start  to 
finish,  with  all  the  vivid  detail  of  his  imagination. 

"We'll  trust  to  luck  he'll  come  back  this  way  again. 
We'd  best  set  the  trap  right  here,  I  guess.  Queer  how 
they  fight,  mink  and  rats,  every  minute.  A  mink  never 
eats  a  thing  but  meat — it's  got  to  be  fresh  and  raw,  too. 
That's  why  they're  so  savage!  Look,  Bob,  where  it  first 
pounced  on  the  poor  muskrat!  See  how  they  fought!" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  they  only  eat  fresh  meat,"  Bob  as- 
serted himself  with  confidence.  "I  once  saw  a  mink,  actu- 
ally watched  him,  down  by  our  stream,  and  he  was  tear- 
ing away  at  a  piece  of  rotten,  maggoty  stuff  one  of  the 
dogs  had  carried  there  and  left.  It  was  that  bad,  a  fel- 
low could  hardly  come  close  to  it,  yet — " 

"Then  he  was  after  the  maggots  in  it,  not  the  meat  it- 
self," reasserted  Dave.  "They'll  eat  maggots  all  right. 
I've  found  rotten  meat,  too,  that  they'd  torn  apart  to  get 
at.  But  they  never  eat  it.  It's  one  sure  way  to  know  it's 
mink  you're  on  to." 

The  tracks  along  the  narrow  ledge  of  shore  were 
grouped  in  pairs,  perhaps  fifteen  inches  apart,  the  left 
foot  first.  Dave  called  this  to  his  comrade's  notice. 

"It's  pretty  easy  to  tell  mink  that  way  from  the  tracks 
because  they're  always  like  it.  When  I  built  my  cub- 
bies last  winter  for  the  ones  I  got,  I  made  'em  of  sticks 
about  a  foot  square  and  a  foot  high — maybe  a  little 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  99 

more.  They  had  three  sides  and  I  put  up  the  trap  right 
in  the  open  side,  covered  over.  Then  I  put  the  bait  way 
in  the  back  and  roofed  'em  over  with  more  sticks  and 
snow.  Father  told  me  how  to  do  it  right." 

"What  did  you  use  for  bait?  Parsnips  or  apples  or 
what?" 

"Meat,  I  said.  Got  to  be  meat.  They  only  like  it 
bloody,  just  as  I  told  you.  Muskrat's  best,  but  rabbit  or 
chicken's  most  as  good.  I've  used  a  dead  muskrat  that 
I'd  just  caught.  A  mink  has  lots  of  curiosity,  like  a  coon, 
I  reckon,  so  he  hunts  round  investigating  the  cubby. 
'Course  he  can  only  get  in  one  way  and  so  he  steps  on 
the  trap  as  he  creeps  toward  the  bait  at  the  back.  An- 
other thing,  minks  always  crawl  through  every  hollow 
log  they  come  across,  exploring  'em  like.  We're  apt  to 
get  one  in  that  coon  set  of  ours,  back  yonder,  where  we 
covered  the  trap  with  the  punky  wood  and  put  it  inside. 
Wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit,  if  we  did." 

Dave  noticed  a  point  a  rod  or  two  beyond  where  the 
pathway  narrowed  to  a  few  inches.  It  was  ideal  for  the 
set  he  had  in  mind.  Staking  his  trap  securely  to  a  nearby 
stump,  he  placed  the  set  just  under  water  at  the  very  edge 
of  the  brook.  In  order  to  get  it  below  the  surface,  he  had 
to  scrape  out  a  handful  or  two  of  pebbles  and  mud.  He 
then  hid  the  metal  with  leaves.  Sure  that  all  was  ar- 
ranged as  cleverly  as  his  woodcraft  could  direct,  he 
looked  about  the  bank.  A  large  rock,  a  good  foot  round, 
lay  near  to  hand.  With  Bob's  help,  he  managed  to  lift  it 
and  drop  it  in  place  squarely  upon  the  narrow  shore  be- 
tween the  water  and  the  bank,  very  effectually  blocking 
the  passage.  However,  a  moment's  survey  convinced  him 


ioo  SANDY  FLASH 

that  this  was  not  all  that  he  needed,  for  spying  a  par- 
tially fallen  branch  nearby  he  pulled  that  down,  too,  so 
that  it  rested  on  top  of  the  rock. 

"I  ought  to  have  lopped  that  bough  off  in  the  first  place. 
Anything  could  climb  over  the  stone  by  itself.  It's  all 
right  now,  though,  nothing  can  get  past  it  and  the  limb, 
both,  unless  they  climb  all  the  way  up  the  bank.  If  a 
mink  comes  marching  by,  and  he's  certain  sure  to,  sooner 
or  later,  he'll  step  round  it  in  the  water.  And  there's  the 
trap  ready  waiting  for  him!  It's  as  sure  a  set  for  'em  as 
you  can  make.  Simple  as  pie,  too,  isn't  it?"  Dave 
grinned,  "Once  you  know  how!" 

"Sometimes  when  the  bank  doesn't  run  up  steep  and 
make  a  little  path  like  this  down  below,"  he  pointed,  "it's 
fine  to  stake  down  fresh  meat,  rats  or  a  rabbit  or  a  bit  of 
raw  chicken,  close  to  the  water  edge.  They'll  see  that 
sure,  coming  along.  Then  you  put  the  trap  near  it.  In 
a  cubby  always,  the  bait's  got  to  be,  of  course." 

"Have  to  find  their  tracks  first,  I  guess,  same  as  most 
everything  else."  Bob  splashed  some  water  with  a  stick 
upon  the  marks  made  by  him  and  Dave  during  the  set- 
ting of  the  trap.  "I  say,  we've  made  a  deuce  of  a  mess 
here,  tramping  all  about  the  place." 

"Yes,  and  gotten  good  and  wet,  too."  Dave  kicked 
out  a  well-soaked  moccasin.  "The  thing's  first  to  find  out 
where  the  minks  have  been  coming — from  the  tracks — 
then  make  the  sets  and  the  cubbies  for  'em.  Naturally! 
Roundabout  stumps,  sometimes,  and  covered  with  leaves, 
gives  a  pretty  fair  place." 

He  pulled  a  large  stick  from  where  it  had  lodged 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  101 

against  a  boulder  and  joined  Bob  in  splashing  water  along 
the  path  where  they  had  trodden  the  way  to  a  muddy 
slush.  Whether  or  not  water  would  do  any  good,  he  did 
not  know.  The  next  fall  of  snow  would  hide  their  traces, 
at  any  event,  so  neither  boy  bothered  very  much  about  it. 

"That'll  do,  I  reckon.  If  any  more  mink  come  by, 
they'll  trot  along  the  path.  And  they'll  have  to  step  in 
the  water,  to  get  round,  so  that's  the  best  we  can  do  for 
'em.  Hadn't  we  better  be  starting  back,  Bob?  I'm 
starved  almost  hollow  as  a  grouse  log.  Really!  And 
we've  nothing  to  eat  with  us,  either.  'Less  you  feel  like  a 
try  at  raw  rabbit  or  some  muskrat  meat?  That's  about 
the  cleanest  thing  there  is.  Tastes  a  little  like  chicken." 

"No,  I  reckon  not.  We'd  best  be  getting  along  now. 
Your  turn  to  fetch  the  horses  this  trip.  Meet  me  on  the 
Providence  road.  I'll  go  straight  down  creek  and  pick  up 
the  skunk.  I  know  the  place  you  left  it.  The  muskrats 
and  the  rabbits  I'll  take  along  now.  I  say,  give  me  the 
bag,  will  you?  That's  it!" 

They  trudged  off  without  more  debate.  Half  an  hour 
later,  they  rejoined  one  another  at  the  spot  where  they 
had  parted  in  the  morning.  Bob  slung  the  skunk  across 
the  pummel  of  his  saddle,  then  climbed  up  himself.  Dave 
hung  the  rabbits  in  the  game  bag  over  his  shoulder 
and  the  muskrats,  lashed  together  in  a  bundle,  half  and 
half  across  his  own  saddle  bow.  It  was  a  well-satisfied 
pair  of  boys  that  parted  company  at  the  Thomas  farm- 
stead. Never  had  they  dreamed  of  such  luck  at  their 
traps  within  so  short  a  time.  It  had  come  to  them  as 
a  result,  really,  of  the  long  days  of  earnest  work  that 


102  SANDY  FLASH 

Dave  had  put  in  studying  the  life  of  the  forest  before  he 
got  his  father's  approval  for  systematic  attention  to  the 
sport.  His  patience  was  reaping  its  reward. 

The  main  thought  in  the  minds  of  both,  as  they  turned 
their  horses'  heads  apart  at  the  crossways,  was  for  the 
stag  of  Hunting  Hill.  That  was  a  matter  demanding  ac- 
tion, immediate,  brooking  no  delay.  They  would  try  for 
it  Monday.  As  they  called  farewell  and  jogged  off,  the 
future  looked  very  rosy  to  them,  as  well  it  might  They 
had  left  one  important  consideration  from  their  reckon- 
ing, however.  Neither  boy  gave  thought  to  the  presence 
of  Sandy  Flash  in  the  neighborhood,  though  the  finding 
of  the  silver  cup  from  the  Lewises'  might  well  have  warned 
them.  Neither  suspected  for  an  instant  that  they  had 
been  watched  by  the  outlaw  that  very  morning.  Nor  did 
they  know  that  this  was  not  the  first  time,  by  any  means, 
that  he  had  been  near  them  while  they  were  tending 
their  traps. 

Sandy  Flash  had  taken  cognizance  of  their  presence 
when  chance  had  led  him  upon  Dave's  rabbit  snare  in 
the  meadow  a  fortnight  before.  The  dangling  game  had 
filled  a  needed  want  in  his  larder.  It  was  the  day  after 
this  that  he  had  come  to  Hunting  Hill  again,  this  time 
with  Peter  Burgandine.  Indeed,  having  strapped  the  old 
farmer  to  the  oak,  he  had  suddenly  recalled  the  snare,  not 
so  far  away,  and  determined  to  revisit  it.  Having  set  it 
again,  he  would  come  back  to  the  tortured  man,  trusting 
that  the  interval  in  the  killing  cold  of  December  might 
serve  to  loosen  his  tongue  and  show  way  to  money.  Hear- 
ing the  boys  hastening  up  the  slope,  he  had  sought  his 
horse,  tethered  near  the  Strasburg  Road,  and  ridden  off. 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  103 

The  chase  from  the  Brandywine  had  been  enough  for  one 
day.  Then  had  followed,  on  a  wild  urge  of  the  moment, 
the  daring  affair  at  the  Newtown  inn  when  he  had  bearded 
the  posse  itself  and  disappeared.  In  the  afternoon  of 
the  same  day,  he  had  circled  back,  pilfered  the  Lewis 
home  of  its  silver  and  disappeared  under  cover  of  twi- 
light. 

Sandy  Flash  since  then  had  not  gone  back  to  Hand's 
Pass  nor  to  Newlin  or  Bradford,  as  the  good  people  fondly 
supposed.  The  great  rock  retreat  near  Cain  Meeting 
was  empty.  Rather  he  had  been  lying  quiet  close  by  in 
Edgemont,  craftily  maturing  plans  of  his  own,  getting 
himself  as  snugly  fixed  in  his  new  lair  as  possible.  The 
trapping  operations  of  Bob  Allyn  and  Dave  soon  drew 
his  attention  to  them  and  more  than  once  he  had  been 
within  gunshot,  as  he  shadowed  their  steps  from  tree  to 
tree  along  the  brook.  Had  Dave  but  known  it,  it  was 
none  other  than  the  outlaw  who  had  taken  two  coons 
from  the  log  traps  and  neglected  to  reset  them  before  the 
boy  came  by  the  Wednesday  .previous.  Sandy  was  living 
well  in  his  cave  at  Castle  Rock,  thanks  to  the  abundance 
of  game  and  to  the  convenient  endeavors  of  the  boys. 

The  first  real  hint  that  came  to  him  of  danger  from 
them  grew  out  of  their  set  at  the  otter  pond  and  their 
finding  of  Thomas  Lewis's  silver  tankard.  The  high- 
wayman had,  just  as  Bob  suspected,  hidden  his  loot  in 
several  handy  nooks  and  crannies  here  and  there  through- 
out the  woods  of  Edgemont  and  Newtown  within  reach 
of  Castle  Rock.  It  so  happened  that  he  had  the  stolen 
mugs  with  him  when  he  had  made  his  way  toward  his 
hiding  place,  circling  roundabout  under  cover  of  the  Rid- 


104  SANDY  FLASH 

ley  Woodlands.  Seeing  the  otter  hole  in  the  bank  not 
far  from  Button's,  he  had  slipped  the  cup  in  it  for  safe 
keeping,  never  suspecting  that  the  boys  would  trap  so  far 
up  the  narrowing  stream.  Besides,  he  was  making  a  com- 
mon cache  of  all  his  plunder  high  among  the  crags  of 
Castle  Rock,  where  no  chance  rover  would  be  apt  to 
stumble  upon  it.  He  hoped  soon  to  remove  everything 
there. 

Put  on  guard  by  the  discovery  of  the  silver,  Sandy 
Flash  had  at  last  made  up  his  mind  to  watch  the  boys  in 
earnest.  He  was  quite  ready  to  go  any  length  where  his 
own  safety  was  concerned  or  where  the  carrying  out  of 
his  schemes  seemed  threatened.  Particularly,  what  he 
had  in  hand  just  now.  The  man  was  a  strange  mingling 
of  bestial  cruelty  and  selfishness,  warped  with  a  strand 
of  what  might  have  approached  chivalry.  His  lashing 
and  torture  of  old  Peter  Burgandine  had  shown  one  side 
of  his  degenerate  nature.  And  the  Newlin  farmer  was 
not  the  only  one  who  had  been  tied  up  and  beaten  in  like 
fashion.  On  the  other  hand,  stories  were  rife  of  Sandy 
Flash  occasionally  showing  a  kindly  disarming  friendship 
toward  his  fellows,  even  giving  the  money  he  had  taken 
from  well-to-do  to  help  more  poor  and  needy  folk  he  met 
with  on  the  way. 

Once  while  riding  back  to  his  cave  in  the  Valley  Hills, 
between  Cain  Meeting  and  the  old  stone  mill,  he  had 
come  upon  a  poor  woman  bound  to  market.  She  had  a 
few  shillings  and  pence  tied  carefully  in  her  kerchief,  but, 
even  so,  feared  the  chance  of  meeting  with  the  dreaded 
robber.  On  seeing  Sandy  Flash,  she  had  asked  him  to 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  105 

go  with  her  through  the  wood,  explaining  her  anxiety  for 
her  little  treasure,  should  she  be  stopped  by  the  highway- 
man. Sandy  very  courteously  went  with  her  to  the  far 
edge  of  the  copse  where  the  road  stretched  down  through 
open  fields  toward  the  hamlet  in  the  Valley.  There,  he 
stopped,  took  off  his  hat  and  made  himself  known,  pre- 
senting the  astonished  old  lady  with  a  golden  sovereign 
before  he  slipped  away  among  the  trees. 

Another  twist  in  the  man's  nature  was  his  love  of  dare- 
deviltry  toward  the  authorities  and  the  farmer  posses  that 
vainly  tried  to  bring  him  to  a  reckoning  at  the  bar  of 
justice.  He  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  round  up  two  of 
them,  while  they  were  out  hunting  the  hills  for  him  one 
day,  and  he  had  given  them  a  lasting  taste  of  the  lashing 
that  Burgandine  had  endured. 

All  in  all,  however,  the  man  was  a  dangerous  scoundrel, 
well  deserving  to  be  hung.  The  few  tricks  he  had  played 
on  his  pursuers  and  his  occasional  gifts  to  the  poor,  these 
vastly  exaggerated  in  the  telling,  blinded  a  person  here 
and  there  to  the  real  villainy  he  was  guilty  of  in  the 
county  and  to  the  utterly  heartless  way  in  which  he 
usually  treated  his  victims.  It  was  thanks  to  these  mis- 
guided folk,  luckily  only  two  or  three  in  all,  that  the  out- 
law was  able  to  escape  capture  and  fare  as  well  as  he 
did,  hidden  away  in  his  many  places  of  concealment. 
They  kept  him  in  ammunition  and  food,  what  little  of 
both  he  needed,  apart  from  the  results  of  his  robberies. 
Most  of  his  provisions  he  could  get  himself  with  his 
flintlock.  Like  many  clever  criminals,  Sandy  Flash  knew 
the  value  of  appearing  in  a  hero's  guise  before  the  simple 


io6  SANDY  FLASH 

folk,  whenever  he  could.  He  invariably  turned  this  pose 
of  helpfulness  to  good  account,  with  never  the  faintest 
heart  throb  of  sincerity  in  it. 

The  stag  he  had  been  stalking  this  fair  morning  would 
have  meant  smoked  venison  enough  and  to  spare  for  many 
weeks  had  not  the  boys  startled  it  away  from  all  chances 
of  a  shot  at  that  time.  Sandy  put  that  fact  to  their  reck- 
oning against  the  time  he  should  have  a  settlement  of 
scores.  He  had  a  way  of  doing  this  that  meant  small 
good  for  those  concerned. 

It  is  strange  how  little  things  alter  the  whole  trend  of 
the  future.  The  mild  Saturday  on  which  the  boys  had 
ridden  over  to  look  at  their  traps  by  Hunting  Hill  was 
touched  with  a  bite  of  keener  breeze  as  it  grew  toward 
noon.  This  had  led  Bob  to  stable  the  horses  at  the  Mac- 
Afees',  as  he  had  explained  to  his  chum,  so  that  they 
might  be  out  of  wind,  until  it  was  time  for  the  return  ride, 
Coming  home,  it  was  Dave's  turn  to  walk  back  for  them 
to  the  corners  and  on  to  meet  Bob  again  by  the  road  above. 
As  we  know,  the  boy  had  done  it.  So  it  was  that  Sandy 
Flash  waited  vainly  till  well  after  one  o'clock  for  the  lads 
to  approach  him  on  foot,  past  the  lower  reaches  of  Ridley, 
where  he  had  concealed  himself. 

It  was  cold  up  there  on  the  hill,  bitter  cold,  standing 
still,  as  the  wind  came  flooding  sharply  up  the  valley. 
The  man  cursed  his  folly  for  not  having  stalked  them  to 
the  brookside  in  the  first  place.  Not  knowing  they  had 
gone  far  on  to  the  mink  track,  he  had  mistakenly  fancied 
that  they  would  come  back  as  soon  as  they  had  worked  a 
little  way  along  the  stream.  At  last,  he  gave  up  all  hopes 
of  seeing  them  and  turned  his  steps  toward  Castle  Rock. 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  107 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  reach  a  strip  of  woodland 
that  swept  from  the  southwestern  slope  of  that  hill  up  a 
swale  in  the  ground  to  the  ridge  topped  by  the  Providence 
Road.  This  high  ground  divided  Crum  on  the  east  from 
the  waters  of  Ridley  on  the  west.  The  outlaw  could 
move  about  pretty  much  as  he  pleased  in  both  valleys 
with  plenty  of  cover  and  little  chance  of  being  seen.  It 
was  only  while  crossing  the  road  on  the  bare  hilltop  that 
he  had  to  make  use  of  any  special  care  to  avoid  detec- 
tion. Even  then  it  offered  not  the  least  difficulty  to  one 
trained,  as  Flash  had  been  from  boyhood,  in  the  ways  of 
the  wood. 

Castle  Rock  in  Edgemont  is  a  high  hill  bearing  almost 
the  same  relation  to  Crum  Creek  that  Hunting  Hill  does 
to  Ridley.  The  forested  slope  on  the  east  runs  down 
sharply  to  the  edge  of  the  brook.  On  the  south,  it  drops 
more  gently  to  a  narrow  open  valley,  cut  by  the  silver 
sparkle  of  a  swift  little  stream.  The  Strasburg  Road 
bounds  the  northern  foot  of  Castle  Rock  where  the  oak 
woods  stretch  upward  from  wayside  thicket  to  the 
weathered  boulders  that  top  the  summit  far  above. 

It  was  here  at  the  peak  of  Castle  Rock  that  the  wooded 
hill  had  won  its  name.  And  rightly  so.  Jutting  high 
among  the  ancient  oaks  and  hickories,  yet  thoroughly  hid- 
den by  them,  bulked  a  great  mass  of  granite.  A  huge 
tower  of  it,  gray,  moss-grown,  irregular,  battered  here  and 
there,  with  lichened  shafts  of  rock  reaching  far  above 
the  rest,  it  caught  and  held  the  eye  like  the  crenelated 
merlons  of  some  crumbling  old-world  barbican.  The 
sides  were  solid  in  places,  rising  sheer  for  many  yards. 
Near  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  where  the  granite  broke  from 


io8  SANDY  FLASH 

out  of  the  solid  core  of  the  hill  and  pitched  its  tower 
among  the  trees,  a  little  opening  hid  behind  a  screen  of 
vines  and  briers.  It  was  the  only  entrance  to  a  natural 
cleft  or  cavern  in  the  rocks. 

Instead  of  trying  to  crawl  up  to  this  from  the  west, 
through  an  almost  impassable  tangle  of  thorns  and  briers 
and  wild-grapevines,  Sandy  Flash  circled  the  pile  and  then 
crept  round  its  face,  clinging  to  a  little  ledge  of  granite 
that  offered  fair  footing  to  one  who  knew  the  way.  Above 
the  opening  he  paused,  pushed  the  matted  screen  back 
from  the  rock  with  his  foot,  then  lowered  himself  gingerly 
from  grip  to  grip,  toehold  to  toehold,  till  he  dropped  from 
sight  onto  a  platform  below.  The  vines  swung  back 
promptly  to  their  former  position  above  his  head.  The 
outlaw  stood  within  a  perfect  network  of  interwoven 
thorns  of  such  thickness  that  even  the  winter  loss  of  leaves 
had  not  forced  them  to  lay  bare  the  secret  beneath. 

Assured  that  the  screen  was  as  before,  the  man  bent 
low  and  pushed  his  way  along  the  narrow  crack  in  the 
granite.  A  fair  amount  of  light  enabled  him  to  see,  some 
of  it  coming  from  within,  through  a  crevice  in  the  roof. 
A  moment  later,  he  stood  erect  in  the  middle  of  a  good- 
sized  cave,  brushing  the  dust  from  his  sleeve.  The  place 
was  dry  as  a  bone,  high  enough  for  him  to  walk  upright 
in  some  places  and  quite  large  enough  for  several  men  to 
sit  down  in  comfortably.  A  rude  fireplace  had  been  built 
in  one  corner  by  the  simple  expedient  of  rolling  together 
some  flat  stones.  A  darkened  streak  up  the  sloping  wall 
of  granite  showed  the  outlet  for  smoke.  It  escaped 
through  the  same  little  split  that  let  in  light  near  the  en- 
trance. A  penny  dip  stuck  on  a  harrow  tooth  driven  in  a 


iog 

crack  served  to  light  the  place,  when  Sandy  had  scratched 
at  his  flint  and  flashed  a  bit  of  powder  in  the  pan.  The 
candle  spluttered  a  moment,  then  burned  with  a  clear 
yellow  light. 

A  bundle  of  clothes  near  the  fireplace  stirred,  as  a  man 
sat  up  suddenly  rubbing  his  eyes  and  stretching,  turn  by 
turn.  He  was  not  nice  to  look  upon.  Unshaven,  dirty 
to  a  degree,  sullen  and  evil-eyed,  the  fellow  had  none  of 
the  swaggering  neatness  that  marked  the  bearing  of  Sandy 
Flash.  Rather  he  looked  every  inch  the  thieving  black- 
guard that  he  was.  Mordecai  Dougherty  yawned  loudly, 
then  spat  in  the  embers  of  a  dying  fire. 

"Wot  luck,  Cap'n?    Any  buck  meat?" 

"Little  enough,  me  sleepin'  beauty!"  Sandy  Flash  set 
the  candle  so  that  the  light  fell  across  the  hearth.  "Shake 
out  there,  Mort,  an'  cut  me  a  bite  o'  pork  from  the  hunk 
yonder,  like  a  good  fellow.  I'll  stir  up  a  fire.  The  lads 
with  the  traps  ruined  the  finest  hit  o'  venison  for  us  ye 
ever  clapped  eyes  on.  The  buck  I  told  ye  of,  it  was. 
The  very  same!" 

"Snared  it,  the  dirty  raskils?"  Mordecai  bent  to  draw 
a  villainous  looking  knife,  none  too  clean,  from  its  rest- 
ing place  in  his  left  stocking.  Then  he  set  about  slicing 
the  meat.  "I  said  ye  ought  to've  knocked  'em  off  fer  fair, 
the  brace  of  'em,  the  time  wot  they  first  found  yer  siller 
drinkin'  mug." 

"I'm  runnin'  this  party!  When  your  ways're  wanted, 
they'll  be  asked  for.  Not  sooner.  Understand?  No, 
they  didn't  snare  the  deer.  Naturally  not!  How'd  they 
know  to?  Scared  it  off  the  very  sights  o'  me  gun,  though, 
the  beauty  that  it  was,  too!  Foolin'  with  traps  and 


no  SANDY  FLASH 

snares,  and  all  that,  they  were,  over  in  the  other  valley. 
Reckon  ye  never  thought  o'  seein'  to  our  own  nags,  now, 
did  ye?" 

Dougherty's  answer  was  to  lay  aside  the  meat  and  make 
his  way  out  of  the  cave,  followed  by  a  hearty  curse  from 
his  leader.  By  the  time  he  had  returned,  the  fire  was  un- 
der way,  taking  some  of  the  chill  from  the  cavern.  And 
a  cleverly  built  fire  it  was.  Very  small,  of  the  driest 
wood,  it  served  to  boil  a  pot  of  water  and  cook  the  simple 
meal,  yet  it  gave  forth  practically  no  smoke.  Sandy  Flash 
went  on  with  his  tale,  describing  the  stalk  of  the  stag  and 
his  vain  wait  for  the  boys'  return.  Mordecai  Dougherty 
offered  no  further  suggestions,  but  it  was  clear  that  he 
felt  that  the  presence  of  the  lads  and  the  knowledge  they 
had,  justified  extremes.  The  man  was  lacking  in  Flash's 
brains,  but  he  was  every  whit  as  cruel  in  destroying 
what  stood  in  his  way.  Just  now  both  men  had  plans 
brewing  of  considerable  import.  They  lost  no  more  time 
in  getting  to  them. 

"I've  gotten  the  whole  thing  pretty  well  lined  up, 
Mort."  Sandy  Flash  carefully  replenished  the  fire  with 
more  dry  sticks,  using  an  iron  rod  as  a  poker.  He  had 
found  it  in  the  cave.  "That  message  ye  brought  me  last 
night  from  Moses  Doan  turned  the  trick  for  a  good  'unl 
So  they're  to  ship  the  gold  toward  Head  of  Elk,  are 
they?  Reckon  it's  less  likely  to  be  captured  there,  eh? 
How  about  it's  gettin'  down  there  first,  says  I!  How 
about  that,  me  hearty?" 

"This  comin'  week,  it  is.  We  heard  it  all.  Old  Doan 
he  sez  wot — "  Dougherty  paused,  as  Sandy  Flash  mo- 


THE  STAG  OF  HUNTING  HILL  in 

tioned  for  silence  in  a  way  that  showed  he  looked  for 
obedience. 

"They're  afraid  to  use  the  main  road  through  Chester, 
I  take  it?  It'd  be  too  risky  for  'em.  Hum!  They're  to 
come  straight  west,  are  they,  just  as  Doan  told  me  he 
thought  they  would,  when  he  spoke  o'  me  comin'  to  Castle 
Rock  in  the  first  place?  Think  o'  that,  me  dear!  They're 
to  ride  right  by  our  door,  ye  might  say — on  the  Goshen 
Road!  Ye've  told  me  so!  It's  a  favor  truly  they're  after 
doin'  us.  An'  not  a  one  the  wiser!"  Flash  laughed. 
"Thinkin'  I'm  back  in  Cain  or  Bradford!  They'll  wake 
up  more  sudden  than  they  fell  asleep,  that  they  will!" 

"Ye're  forgettin'  the  cup  an'  the  boys  wot  found  it. 
It's  not  our'n  yet,  that  gold  ain't,  nor  like  to  be,  either, 
long  as  ye  let  that  pair  o'  sneakin'  spies  have  the  run  o' 
the  country.  They'll  be  fetchin'  a  halter  tether  fer  us 
both,  Cap'n  Fitz,  before — " 

"Oh,  no,  they  won't!  Rest  ye  easy  on  that.  Listen, 
now,  to  what  I'm  tellin'  ye,  an'  stow  the  gab.  Ye're  pow- 
erful strong  in  talk,  but  poverishin'  little  work  it  is  ye're 
doin'." 

Sandy  Flash  ran  over  the  fuller  details  of  his  plot  for 
the  enlightenment  of  his  accomplice.  Tipped  off  by  the 
infamous  Moses  Doan,  through  Mordecai,  who  had  acted 
as  go-between,  it  appeared  that  Flash  had  learned  some 
while  before  of  the  authorities  covertly  collecting  large 
sums  of  money  for  use  in  buying  military  stores.  This, 
in  gold  coin,  was  to  be  moved  as  soon  as  might  be  from 
its  present  precarious  hiding  place  close  to  the  enemy's 
lines.  Arrangements  had  just  been  made  to  do  this  by 
couriers,  one  of  whom  was  to  ride  out  past  Newtown 


ii2  SANDY  FLASH 

Square  and  the  White  Horse,  then  south  to  the  Brandy- 
wine  by  the  Street  Road  and  on  toward  Head  of  Elk. 
All  secretly  and  under  cover  of  darkness. 

Sandy  Flash  had  acted  on  Doan's  advice  and  moved  to 
Castle  Rock  a  fortnight  before,  bent  upon  lying  quietly 
in  wait  until  he  should  have  received  further  word.  All 
was  now  in  readiness  and  the  tip  had  come  with  the  ar- 
rival of  Dougherty  at  the  cave  the  evening  before.  Sandy 
disclosed  a  few  of  his  own  plans  as  the  conference  ended. 
He  lent  emphasis  to  his  words  by  speaking  slowly,  tapping 
the  hearth  stone  with  the  iron  rod. 

"Do  ye  understand  now,  me  hearty,  why  ye've  no  man- 
ner o'  need  to  be  botherin'  about  'em?  'Tis  perishin'  little 
that  couple  o'  game  cocks'll  have  to  do  with  this  deal! 
Ye  can  tell  Moses,  too,  he's  no  need  o'  worry." 

Sandy  chuckled  at  the  look  of  unbelieving  surprise  be- 
ginning to  dawn  in  the  face  of  his  companion.  It  gave 
way  to  a  sort  of  grudging  admiration,  as  the  meaning  of 
the  leader's  words  sank  deeper.  Mordecai  Dougherty 
was  a  brute  and  hardened  to  most  things,  yet  now  he 
whistled  softly. 

"Ye'd  not  try  that!  It's  but  lads  they  be  after  all, 
Cap'n.  Ye  couldn't." 

"Oh,  couldn't  I?  Just  bide  a  wee  an'  see  who  couldn't! 
Do  ye  know  what  the  rider's  to  carry?  In  solid  coin  o' 
the  realm,  me  beauty! "  Sandy's  lips  purred  as  he  named 
it.  "Now,  how  about  it,  lads  or  no?  Eh?" 

Dougherty  nodded. 

Meanwhile,  at  Sycamore  Mills,  Bob  Allyn  had  just 
wheedled  his  father  out  of  a  promise  to  let  him  have  Mon- 
day off  for  a  try  at  the  stag.  He  little  knew  to  what  the 
chase  would  lead  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  BEAVER  DAM 

THE  two  boys  put  in  a  quiet  Sunday.  A  few  neces- 
sary chores  in  the  morning  were  gotten  over  with  as 
soon  as  might  be.  Then  came  the  reading  of  family 
prayer,  as  neither  the  Allyns  or  the  Thomases  were  able 
to  arrange  for  the  long  drive  to  church,  this  particular 
morning.  But  both  families  replaced  this  with  a  little 
service  of  their  own  at  home,  as  was  their  custom.  A 
late  dinner  kept  them  at  table  till  mid-afternoon.  Before 
one  could  realize  it  the  short  winter  day  had  slipped  on 
to  twilight  and  the  sun  began  to  set  across  the  hills  of  dis- 
tant Thornbury.  There  was  a  queer,  uncertain  light  there 
in  the  west.  John  Allyn  looked  at  it  a  moment  critically 
as  he  came  up  from  the  barn  by  Sycamore  Mills.  Then 
he  shook  his  head  and  spoke  to  Bob,  who  was  walking 
beside  him  with  a  pail  of  milk. 

"That's  a  lovely  sight,  if  ever  there  was  one,  son,  but 
it's  got  the  token  of  change  in  it.  Mind  how  the  wind's 
gone  down  and  the  snow's  got  a  yellow  streak  to  it  off 
there  under  the  sunset?  By  to-morrow  we'll  have  it  in  a 
different  quarter.  I  feel  the  weather  breeding  in  my 
bones  already.  'Tis  a  queer  thing  that,  but  it  rarely 
fails." 

Bob  had  thought  of  riding  over  to  Dave's  after  supper, 
but  now  he  gave  up  the  idea.  He  studied  the  sky  care- 
fully. Of  late,  he  had  begun  to  take  an  interest  in  such 

113 


ii4  SANDY  FLASH 

things.  Not  only  did  he  appreciate  more  than  he  used  to 
the  unsearchable  beauties  of  coloring  burning  so  vividly 
there  before  him,  but  he  also  was  learning  what  a  vast 
wealth  of  practical  information  the  clouds  and  the  sky 
and  the  sunlight  contained  for  those  who  had  schooled 
themselves  to  read  the  lessons  aright.  He  knew  that  his 
father  was  the  best  teacher  he  could  have,  for  big  John 
Allyn  had  been  making  his  farming  earn  him  a  livelihood 
from  boyhood,  thanks  in  no  small  way,  to  his  skillful 
judging  of  wind  and  weather.  Bob  now  noted  the  for- 
mation of  the  clouds  and  the  coloring  on  the  hilltops  with 
a  view  of  putting  their  signs  to  account.  The  beauty  of 
the  thing  held  him  a  moment,  then  with  a  shift  of  thought, 
his  mind  turned  toward  Dave  and  the  passion  of  his  chum 
for  the  open  and  all  the  ways  of  nature. 

"Father,  I  reckon  you're  like  Dave  Thomas."  Bob 
laughed,  as  he  looked  at  the  tall  form  of  his  parent. 
"Dave's  always  busy  studying  out  what's  going  to  happen 
next  to  the  weather  and  telling  what  hour  it  is  from  the 
sun  and  the  stars,  if  it's  night.  Everything  like  that.  I 
used  to  laugh  at  him,  but  I'm  going  to  pick  up  a  bit  of  it 
myself.  Look  yonder,  at  that  funny  twist  of  cloud  with 
no  glow  on  it  at  all.  Looks  just  like  smoke  from  a  chim- 
ney to  me.  I  say,  what's  it  mean?" 

"I'm  glad  you  saw  it."  Mr.  Allyn  glanced  at  the  cloud 
his  son  had  spoken  of.  "It's  just  a  freak  of  the  wind! 
Know  what  it  puts  me  in  mind  of,  though?  It's  for  all 
the  world  like  the  signal  fires  the  Delawares  used  to  make 
in  the  olden  days.  They'd  send  'em  up  when  they  were 
out  hunting,  sometimes,  when  they'd  gotten  on  the  track 
of  a  big  herd  of  deer.  Then  when  they  made  their  camps 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  115 

they  kept  signal  smokes  going  most  all  the  time,  telling 
outlying  parties — I  don't  know  what.  Used  to  scare  the 
old-time  settlers  mighty  near  out  their  skins  for  fear  it 
was  trouble  brewing.  But  it  never  was  hereabouts,  thanks 
to  Penn's  Treaty." 

"Where  did  they  make  the  fires?"  asked  Bob.  "On 
the  highest  hills  they  could?" 

"Yes.  They  had  fixed  places  more  or  less.  One  was 
the  Cathcart  Rock  in  Willistown.  Then  another  was 
Signal  Hill  beyond  Old  St.  David's,  Radnor.  The  oldest 
fire  rock  of  all  was  great  stone  down  by  Lewis's  Mill, 
near  the  Darby  Road.  They  say  the  Indians  used  that 
for  a  thousand  years  and  more.  I  reckon  they  did,  from 
all  the  smoke  that's  on  it  to  this  very  day.  I  once  saw 
one  in  Middletown,  too." 

Father  and  son  climbed  the  little  slope  to  the  house  and 
went  indoors.  Supper  was  waiting.  As  they  ate,  the  talk 
veered  round  to  the  chances  of  finding  the  stag.  Bob 
made  ready  for  an  early  start  by  going  to  bed  in  good 
season.  He  knew  what  he  could  look  forward  to,  once  the 
stalk  began. 

Monday  morning  dawned  in  a  smother  of  fog — a  thaw 
faint  with  the  tang  of  the  distant  sea.  Blurred  trees 
dripped  with  the  moisture  of  it.  Hedgerows  lost  them- 
selves in  swirling  eddies  of  it.  Even  farm  buildings, 
familiar  barns  and  sheds  and  corncribs,  rose  in  gray,  un- 
certain masses,  different  altogether  from  their  wonted 
selves.  But  little  wind  stirred  the  mist  and  what  there 
was  came  drifting  in  from  the  east,  over  the  hills  of  Upper 
Providence.  John  Allyn  had  discerned  the  face  of  the 
sky  truly.  The  change  had  come  over  night. 


n6  SANDY  FLASH 

Dave,  near  Rose  Tree  corner,  was  up  in  the  wet  chill 
of  earliest  dawn,  seeing  to  his  cnores.  Like  Bob,  he  had 
his  father's  consent  to  take  the  day  off  in  search  of  the 
deer.  And  he  had  no  idea  of  being  late.  At  the  crossing 
where  the  lane  from  Sycamore  Mills  joined  the  Provi- 
dence Road,  the  boys  hailed  one  another  gleefully.  This 
was  a  red-letter  day — one  that  did  not  come  to  them  often 
and  right  royally  their  spirits  were  rallying  to  it.  A  mo- 
ment's pause  settled  their  course  of  action. 

First  they  would  go  cross  country  to  Hunting  Hill, 
looking  at  such  traps  as  chanced  to  lie  in  their  way.  Then 
they  would  work  north  by  the  Ridley  Woodlands  on  the 
watch  for  signs  of  deer.  Hugh  Thomas  had  heard  of 
their  particular  stag  being  viewed  several  times  lately  on 
the  forested  slopes  of  the  high  ground  over  toward  Fairie 
Hill  and  the  Rising  Sun  in  Willistown.  Both  lads  de- 
termined to  seek  it  first  in  that  quarter.  They  could  ask 
for  report  of  it  as  they  crossed  the  farms  beyond  the 
Strasburg  Road.  They  felt  that  such  an  antlered  crown 
could  not  have  escaped  notice  in  the  neighborhood  for 
long. 

As  they  followed  Ridley  north,  they  could  spare  a  mo- 
ment's passing  to  look  at  the  otter  and  mink  sets  since 
these  were  along  their  line.  Bob  had  brought  a  large 
trap  with  him  on  the  chance  of  finding  a  beaver  dam. 
Each  boy  carried  a  flintlock,  powder  horn  and  bullet 
pouch.  Then  they  had  a  sandwich  or  so  crammed  in  their 
pockets,  simple  wheat  bread  and  cheese,  which  they  could 
munch  as  they  went  along.  This  was  to  be  a  tramp  of 
many  miles  at  best  and  they  were  eager  to  travel  un- 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  117 

hampered  and  avail  themselves  of  daylight  to  the  last 
moment. 

The  first  traps  they  visited  were  unsprung,  just  as  they 
had  left  them  two  days  before.  A  coon,  however,  re- 
warded them  in  one  of  the  hollow  logs.  While  Bob  des- 
patched the  pugnacious  creature  with  a  merciful  blow  on 
the  head,  fearing  to  risk  the  noise  of  a  shot,  Dave  ran 
on  to  the  next  log.  Here  the  trap  was  still  set,  so  they 
hid  their  spoil  and  hastened  to  the  bank  where  the  skunk 
had  been  caught  on  the  Saturday  preceding.  This  was 
empty,  but  the  trappers  were  not  downcast  by  it.  They 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  fill  all  their  traps  in  so  short 
a  time. 

"We've  been  lucky  enough  as  it  is  to  satisfy  most." 
Dave  made  sure  that  the  trap  was  in  working  order.  "But 
I  reckon  nobody's  ever  really  satisfied  with  what  he's  got, 
do  you?  The  more  he  has,  the  more  he  wants !  We  both 
ought—" 

"I'm  ready  to  call  us  lucky! "  Bob  shifted  his  flintlock 
into  the  crook  of  his  arm.  "We'll  clean  out  the  whole 
country  in  no  time,  if  we  keep  it  up  like  we've  begun. 
Do  you  know,  Dave,  I  think  we  ought  to  use  judgment  in 
this  trapping  game.  I  mean  we  ought  to  trap  only  what 
we  really  need,  and  what  there's  lots  of.  If  we  don't,  why 
first  thing  you  know  we'll  begin  to  run  out  of  a  supply!" 

"That's  a  funny  one!"  Dave  laughed.  "How  could 
anybody  ever  make  a  dent  in  all  the  game  there's  here- 
abouts? Why,  there's  so  much  of  it  that  we  could  make 
the  whole  army  fur  coats  and  lug  'em  over  to  the  Valley 
Forge!" 


ii8  SANDY  FLASH 

"What  about  the  fish  in  the  Brandywine,  then?"  broke 
in  Bob.  "Don't  you  know  only  a  few  years  back  the 
stream  had  heaps  and  heaps  of  shad  in  it  far  up  as  the 
Forks  in  Bradford  and  miles  beyond,  too?  Where're 
they  now?  There's  not  a  one,  hardly,  only  trout  and  bass 
and  fall  fish,  and  all  because  folks  have  fished  the  shad 
out  and  built  dams  for  'em  and  set  nets  for  'em  whole- 
sale. Why,  if  they  just  keep  on  like  they've  started,  we 
won't  have  any  game  left  some  day." 

"We've  not  over-set  our  end  of  the  country,  at  any 
rate."  Dave  picked  up  his  gun  and  together  they  turned 
from  the  earth.  "But  it's  worth  thinking  of,  as  we  go  on 
trapping.  Let's  see  how  many  we've  caught  all  together 
so  far."  He  fell  to  checking  over  their  list. 

The  walk  for  several  miles  proved  uneventful.  No  trace 
or  slot  of  deer  greeted  them.  At  the  pool  where  the  musk- 
rat  houses  rose  like  queer  haycocks  through  the  mist,  the 
boys  took  several  animals,  safely  drowned,  from  the  traps. 
This  was  not  much  of  a  surprise,  but  it  did  give  them  a 
pleasant  tingle  of  satisfaction.  Luck  was  evidently  with 
them  still. 

"Rats  are  stupid  things."  Dave  sprung  the  trap  he 
held,  letting  the  dead  muskrat  flop  upon  the  snow.  "A 
fellow  can  make  sets  and  catch  'em,  day  after  day,  and 
they  never  seem  to  understand  enough  what's  going  on 
to  be  afraid."  He  replaced  the  trap  in  the  water  and  se- 
cured the  pole.  "Let's  move  along,  Bob." 

A  disappointment  awaited  them  at  the  pond  in  the 
glen  where  the  set  had  been  made  for  the  otter.  It  was 
just  as  they  had  left  it,  although  fresh  tracks  were  in 
evidence  a-plenty  about  the  bank.  Unmistakable,  among 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  119 

the  others,  ran  those  of  the  giant  they  had  noticed  before 
— the  king  otter  of  the  pool.  The  boys  were  clearly  at 
fault  somewhere,  yet  neither  of  them  knew  in  what  way. 
It  would  have  been  no  small  comfort  to  them  had  they 
understood  that  the  otter  is  regarded  by  the  professional 
trapper  as  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  all  animals  to  take. 
When  they  had  nipped  a  bit  of  fur  from  one  of  them,  they 
had  come  as  near  success  as  they  were  likely  to  in  that 
small  place  where  every  otter  was  now  doubly  on  guard. 
Not  knowing  the  difficulties  before  them,  they  kept  dog- 
gedly at  it,  which  was,  after  all,  the  best  thing  they  could 
do.  The  mink  set  in  the  water  by  the  foot  of  the  bank  re- 
stored them  to  high  feelings  the  instant  they  caught  sight 
of  the  animal  in  it.  It  was  a  fair-sized  one,  probably 
twenty-five  inches  from  muzzle  to  tail  tip,  and  the  fur 
was  prime.  Especially  did  the  catch  justify  the  wisdom 
of  the  way  they  had  laid  their  trap.  It  showed  that  they 
had  read  the  signs  aright  and  tried  for  mink  where  mink 
were.  Two  minutes'  delay  served  to  reset  the  trap  in  the 
same  place. 

"It's  a  regular  walk  they  have  along  here,  like  as  not, 
where  they  come  hunting  after  muskrats,"  volunteered 
Dave.  "We  might  as  well  try  it  again.  This  pelt's  fine. 
We'll  get  a  jolly  good  price  for  it  at  the  Pratt.  Or  we  can 
see  what  mother  can  make  out  of  it.  Your  mother,  if  she'll 
do  it." 

"No  need  for  a  cubby  here,  I  guess,  or  whatever  you 
call  'em."  Bob  stroked  the  sleek  fur.  "The  water  set 
does  just  as  well,  it  seems  to  me.  Besides,  it's  lots  easier. 
Nothing  to  it  but  putting  in  a  trap.  We'll  divvy  up  on 
the  pelts  to-night.  I  think  we  ought  to  have  enough  pretty 


120  SANDY  FLASH 

soon  to  take  over  to  the  Valley  Forge  for  caps  and 
things." 

"All  right.  Here's  for  the  water  set  again,"  said  Dave. 
"Sometimes  you  have  to  have  cubbies,  though.  They're 
good  things,  all  right.  It's  the  only  way  you  can  get  a 
fisher — a  black  cat,  that  is.  I  heard  a  fellow  once  say 
there're  lots  of  'em  back  in  the  mountains  where  the  green 
timber  grows — spruce,  they  love,  fishers  do." 

"I  say,  how'd  he  get  'em?"  Bob  pricked  up  his  ears 
for  what  might  be  useful.  "Did  he  try  in  the  woods?" 

"Built  cubbies  for  'em.  Over  in  the  pines  of  Birming- 
ham, it  was.  Just  like  mine  I  told  you  of  for  mink.  Only 
bigger.  His  were  a  good  two  feet  long  and  a  foot  wide 
and  high.  Then  he  covered  'em  over  with  spruce  boughs 
for  thatch  to  keep  the  snow  from  filling  'em  up.  He  said 
the  less  you  fooled  round  'em,  the  better.  Fishers  are 
scary  as  the  pop  of  a  weasel !  The  great  thing's  to  make 
the  cubby,  then  leave  it  strictly  alone!" 

"Wish  there  were  some  fishers  round  here,  nearer  than 
way  off  there.  It'd  be  great  to  get  a  big  thing  like  that!" 
Bob  sighed.  The  fever  of  the  trapper  had  gotten  deep  in 
his  blood.  He  wanted  to  accomplish  everything  at  once, 
now  he  had  tasted  the  joy  of  the  start. 

"Our  buck  isn't  so  very  small,  you  know,"  the  younger 
boy  grinned,  as  he  saw  that  his  comrade  had  almost  for- 
gotten their  real  mission.  "We've  still  to  get  him  to-day. 
It  would  be  rare  if  there  were  fisher  about,  but  I've  never 
heard  of  one  close  by  in  Edgemont  or  Providence.  Not 
since  father  was  a  boy,  anyway.  Must  be  lots  in  the 
Welsh  Mountains,  though.  \Ve  could  easily  get  over 
there,  if  they'd  let  us  mal;e  a  hunting  trip  of  it  sometime.* 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  121 

"That  man  I  spoke  of  told  me  how  to  get  'em.  You  use 
a  big  trap,  'bout  the  same  as  we  did  for  the  otters.  Then 
you  make  the  cubby  and  put  in  the  trap.  You've  got 
to  hitch  the  chain  to  a  sapling  spring  pole  so  that  when 
he's  fast,  it'll  yank  him  up  in  the  air.  Just  like  that  rab- 
bit loop  of  ours,  only  the  trap  and  all  goes  up  with  this. 
It  takes  a  real  good  sapling  with  lots  of  spring.  It's  hard 
to  find  the  right  kind,  he  said." 

"Should  think  it  might  be!  How  much  does  a  fisher 
weigh?"  queried  Bob. 

"Don't  know.  Never  even  saw  one."  Dave  pushed 
his  way  through  a  thicket  of  alders  and  began  to  climb 
toward  the  higher  ground.  "Let's  get  out  of  this  hollow. 
It's  thick  as  cheese!  Can't  see  a  blessed  thing  for  the 
fog.  We  could  easily  pass  by  that  deer  and  never  know 
it.  How  much  does  a  fisher  weigh?  A  good  deal,  I 
reckon.  Their  pelt's  as  big  as  all  get  out!  The  trick  of 
catching  'em  is  to  lay  a  long  drag  with  some  bait  or  other 
— a  piece  of  rabbit  is  what  the  man  used.  He  said  it  was 
still  better  to  put  some  fox  scent  or  even  aniseed  on  the 
bait,  then  pull  that  along  with  a  strip  of  rawhide  thong 
behind  you.  Then  you  go  and  make  some  cubbies,  here 
and  there,  where  you  drag  the  bait.  There  ought  to  be  a 
bit  of  bait  in  each  cubby.  The  greatest  trouble  must  be 
to  find  the  right  kind  of  saplings  to  yank  'em  up,  I'd 
think." 

"We'll  have  to  try  it,  anyway,  sometime,  just  for  the 
fun  of  it.  That  laying  a  drag  with  more  than  one  cubby 
along  it,  sounds  pretty  good  to  me."  Bob  slung  his  heavy 
trap  and  chain  over  his  shoulder.  "I  say,  it  was  mighty 
foolish  lugging  this  thing  along  to-day  with  the  gun  and 


122  SANDY  FLASH 

all,  wasn't  it?  It'll  only  be  in  the  way,  if  we  ever  do  come 
up  with  the  stag.  Pretty  much  like  a  needle  in  a  hay- 
stack, finding  him  in  this  fog.  What's  a  fisher's  tracks 
look  like?  Ever  see  'em?" 

"Don't  know.  I  never  did.  But  the  trapper  said  they 
were  mighty  hard  to  trail,  the  fishers  themselves  were,  so 
I  guess  they  keep  their  tracks  scarce,  too.  If  you  ever 
come  on  any  pine  marten  where  there's  lots  of  spruce 
trees,  why  then  you'll  find  the  fisher,  sure  as  can  be.  I 
know  because — " 

The  boys  had  climbed  up  from  the  cleft  of  the  valley 
and  now  saw  that  they  were  on  one  of  several  bare  hills 
that  dropped  away  in  rounded  contours  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  carry  through  the  east  wind's  shifting  haze.  The 
mist  had  largely  cleared  away  up  here,  patches  of  it  only 
still  veiling  the  bottom  in  fleecy  waves  of  fog.  Across  the 
field  in  which  they  stood  came  the  melodious  baying  of  a 
hound.  It  was  that  which  had  brought  Dave  to  a  halt, 
his  words  unfinished.  Luck  was  with  them  this  day,  for 
sure.  The  boys  scanned  the  view  in  all  directions.  It 
was  blank. 

"That  dog's  after  something,  sure  as  preaching!"  Bob 
spoke.  "It's  just  as  apt  to  be  a  deer's  trail  as  not." 

"Let's  run  over  and  see  then.  It  just  might  be  that 
buck!  This  is  near  where  they  said  they  saw  him  last 
time,  you  know.  Come  along!"  Dave  broke  into  a  jog 
trot,  Bob  Allyn  at  his  side. 

They  were  right.  An  old  hound  was  busily  working 
away  at  the  slot  of  a  deer.  There  was  no  mistake  about 
that  for  the  cloven  hoof  marks  showed  up  clearly  in  the 
soft  snow.  And  they  were  large,  too.  A  full-grown  stag. 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  123 

The  difficulty,  however,  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  trail  was 
not  fresh.  The  manner  in  which  the  dog  labored  over  it 
soon  convinced  them  that  they  were  wasting  their  time  in 
depending  on  his  ancient,  though  laudable,  endeavors. 
The  stag  had  passed  that  way,  but  how  long  before  neither 
lad  was  clever  enough  to  guess. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do.  And  do  it  quick!" 
Dave  passed  the  hound  and  hurried  on.  "That  old  dog'll 
spend  the  day  working  round  here  in  this  one  field,  yowl- 
ing and  towling  along  the  line  for  dear  life.  But  he'll 
never  get  forward!  We've  got  to  run  it  ourselves,  far  as 
it  goes  in  the  snow.  Maybe  it  may  get  clearer  by  and  by. 
Let's  try!" 

"All  right.  Get  to  it  then!"  Bob's  powerful  stride 
brought  him  alongside  the  smaller  boy.  Without  further 
word  they  settled  down  to  what  they  knew  would  be  the 
real  test  of  the  day — a  grueling  match  of  endurance  and 
pace. 

It  was  not  hard  to  follow  the  slot,  but  it  was  hard  to 
keep  up  the  speed  that  they  felt  absolutely  necessary  if 
they  hoped  to  come  within  gunshot  of  the  deer  before 
dark.  For  more  than  five  hours  they  trudged  on,  speak- 
ing little,  now  climbing  to  the  uplands  where  they  could 
search  the  countryside  in  all  directions,  again  drop- 
ping with  the  winding,  uncertain  trail  to  the  bottom  of 
the  little  valleys  where  they  could  scarcely  see  a  hundred 
fog-dimmed  yards  ahead  of  them.  The  boys  were  be- 
ginning to  tire  as  the  winter  afternoon  came  on.  Their 
bread  and  cheese  served  to  pick  them  up,  however,  and 
they  kept  right  gamely  at  it,  following  the  hoof  marks 
step  by  step.  The  hills,  now,  were  topped  a  good  deal 


124  SANDY  FLASH 

more  slowly  than  at  first,  with  occasional  rests  to  ease 
their  breathing.  The  snow,  too,  seemed  a  lot  more  slip- 
pery and  bothersome  than  it  had  in  the  morning.  Dave 
was  hardened  to  walking,  thoroughly  hardened  to  it,  but 
he  knew  another  fast  climb  or  two  would  bring  him  to 
going  on  his  nerve  alone.  It  was  not  so  much  the  dis- 
tance as  it  was  the  pace  that  was  telling.  Bob  plugged 
onward  stolidly,  showing  little  outward  signs  of  distress, 
despite  the  bad  going.  His  good  Scotch  grit  would  carry 
him  forward  that  way  till  he  stopped  from  exhaustion. 

Luck  came  to  them  as  they  slumped  downward  toward 
a  little  glade  where  the  mist  swirls  played  among  the 
green  spires  of  a  cedar  thicket.  Indeed,  it  was  the  cover 
of  the  fog  that  helped  them,  for  both  boys  were  long  since 
too  weary  for  much  thought  of  woodcraft.  The  stag  had 
been  resting  and  feeding  here  since  early  morning.  Now 
the  sound  of  approaching  steps  sent  him  bounding  through 
the  cover  with  a  slither  of  falling  snow  behind  him,  as 
the  cedar  boughs  swung  wide  to  give  him  passage.  The 
boys  forgot  the  miles  they  had  covered  and  sprang  for- 
ward on  the  instant,  guns  in  readiness.  Now  was  the 
time  for  skill. 

"I  say!  It's  him!"  Bob  sank  on  one  knee,  forgetful 
of  grammar,  as  he  whispered  to  Dave,  and  motioned  with 
his  gun  barrel.  "We're  up  to  him  at  last.  We've  got  to 
stalk  now  for  a  shot!  Who'd  have  thought  we'd  ever — " 

"Hush!  Be  still,  can't  you!"  Dave's  hard  grip  on 
the  other's  arm  made  him  wince.  "He  must  have  been  in 
there  eating!  We're  close  to  him  still,  I  think.  Listen! 
Let's  one  of  us  try  for  a  shot  from  the  other  end  of  the 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  125 

hollow  where  he'll  come  out!  He's  got  to  go  that  way, 
you  know." 

In  whispers  that  choked  with  excitement,  they  made 
their  arrangements.  Dave,  it  was  agreed,  as  the  more 
skilled  of  the  two  in  woodcraft,  had  best  slip  round  the 
copse  and  take  up  a  position  at  the  glade's  end,  while  Bob 
would  work  straight  through  the  thicket.  If  he  got  a 
view  he  was  to  fire.  Otherwise,  his  stalk  would  serve,  at 
least,  to  keep  the  deer  on  the  move  toward  his  friend's 
hidden  point  of  vantage  below.  There  was  little  time  to 
do  more  or  to  make  further  study  of  the  lay  of  the  land. 
This  was  a  serious  handicap,  as  both  boys  had  no  idea  at 
all  where  they  were.  They  did  have  knowledge  enough 
of  the  country,  however,  to  understand  that  the  glen  must 
needs  open  on  the  larger  valley  somewhere  to  the  south. 

Silently  as  they  could  step,  they  parted,  Bob  to  wait 
for  a  reasonable  time,  Dave  to  swing  round  the  western 
border  of  the  coppice.  Luckily  for  the  boy,  the  wind, 
such  as  penetrated  the  sheltered  ravine,  came  from  the 
stag  toward  him.  The  ground  broke  away  sharply  here 
from  the  rolling  upland  hills  to  the  north  and  west  on 
which  they  had  been  tramping  all  day.  Had  he  but  known 
it,  he  was  in  the  hollow  through  which  Crum  Creek  flowed 
south  toward  Castle  Rock.  The  boy,  hampered  by  the 
fog,  and  the  new  angle  from  which  he  was  approaching 
the  open  valley  of  the  Strasburg  Road,  had  not  the  very 
vaguest  idea  of  his  whereabouts.  He  knew  what  he  was 
trying  to  do,  though,  and  he  made  such  fair  speed  at  it 
that  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  glade  before  the  stag  had 
broken  cover  to  a  view. 


126  SANDY  FLASH 

The  deer,  alarmed  by  the  first  disturbing  approach  of 
the  lads,  had  soon  grown  calm  again  and,  on  hearing  noth- 
ing further,  had  begun  to  browse  along  the  side  of  the 
creek.  By  and  by,  it  grew  uneasy  as  instinct  still  whis- 
pered that  something  was  wrong  within  danger  distance 
of  its  shelter.  The  kingly  animal  ceased  lipping  at  sap- 
ling shoots,  mildly  alarmed,  and  froze  to  an  image  of 
tense  grace.  Only  its  sensitive  nostrils  twitched  as  they 
stretched  wide,  quivering  to  test  each  strand  of  scent  that 
came  to  them  on  the  quiet  air.  Then  the  glorious  head 
went  round  and  he  turned  till  he  had  proved  the  breeze 
in  every  quarter.  It  told  him  nothing.  Yet  he  was  not 
satisfied.  Something  was  wrong  and  he  knew  it.  It  came 
to  his  brain  sharp  and  insistent,  not  to  be  ignored,  through 
some  forgotten  sense  that  humans  have  long  since  lost. 
He  caught,  ever  so  faint  and  far  away,  the  deep  baying  of 
the  old  hound,  still  worrying  along  the  trail  that  the  boys 
had  followed.  That  gave  him  no  concern  at  all. 

Unable  to  locate  the  danger,  but  none  the  less  acutely 
aware  of  it,  the  stately  creature  blew  his  nostrils  clear  at 
last  and  stepped  daintily  down  the  hollow.  He  would  not 
hurry  his  pace,  but  he  would  move  along  till  that  uneasy 
feeling  left  him.  So  it  was  that  by  the  time  he  approached 
the  end  of  the  coppice,  Dave  had  been  able  to  conceal 
himself  behind  a  clump  of  cedars  in  readiness  for  a  shot. 
The  boy  was  so  excited,  as  he  waited  prone  on  the  snow, 
that  he  could  scarcely  pour  the  priming  powder  in  his 
flintlock's  pan. 

Further  to  the  north,  Bob  had  crouched,  unmoved  and 
stiff,  as  long  as  he  could  control  his  impatience,  then  he 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  127 

had  risen  and  begun  to  slip  from  tree  to  tree,  eyes  leaping 
down  the  vistas  ahead  of  him.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
follow  the  tracks,  for  the  stag  had  wandered  about  as  he 
nibbled  until  the  slotted  cover  looked  like  a  maze.  All 
the  boy  hoped  for  was  a  view  within  gunshot.  He  had  the 
vantage  of  wind  on  his  left  quarter,  so  need  not  fear  be- 
trayal there.  The  mist  eddies  bothered  him  provokingly, 
for  they  seemed  to  hang  heavily  like  a  blind  among  the 
close-growing  patches  of  cedar.  The  lad  had  loaded  and 
primed  his  gun  like  a  good  woodsman,  while  waiting  for 
Dave  to  get  to  place. 

The  stag  hunt  ended  in  a  manner  that  was  startling, 
though  it  came  to  each  boy  in  a  different  way.  Bob  viewed 
just  as  the  buck  crossed  an  open  glade  far  ahead.  The 
animal  had  paused  there  before  venturing  out  into  the 
meadowland  of  the  valley  beyond.  The  tall  lad  swung  up 
his  gun,  steadied  the  stock  to  his  cheek  with  a  reassuring 
cuddle,  played  the  sights  a  moment  till  they  rested  in  line 
behind  the  stag's  shoulder  where  he  wanted  them,  then, 
bracing  himself  on  widespread  feet,  he  squeezed  off  the 
trigger,  too  keen  a  sportsman  to  jerk  it  even  in  the  stress 
of  firing  at  such  a  splendid  target.  Flint  struck  steel  with 
scratching  click  and  fat  sparks  flamed  to  the  firing  pan, 
but  the  powder  did  not  flash.  The  instant  the  boy  had 
raised  his  arm,  a  puff  of  wind  had  soughed  down  the  hol- 
low and  the  cedars  had  swayed  gently  in  answer  to  it, 
shaking  little  snowslides  from  their  boughs.  A  pinch  of 
clustering  flakes,  tobogganing  downward,  came  to  rest 
full  upon  the  priming  of  the  flintlock  a  second  before  the 
spark  could  ignite  it.  Bob  dropped  the  gun  to  the  crook 


128  SANDY  FLASH 

of  his  arm  with  a  mutter  of  anger  and  disgust  while  he 
tore  at  the  stopper  of  his  powder  flask.  The  boy's  face 
went  white  with  the  disappointment  of  it. 

By  the  time  he  had  reprimed,  the  stag  had  gone  from 
view.  There  was  nothing  for  it  now,  but  wait  till  the 
sound  of  Dave's  shot  should  reassure  him.  To  run  for- 
ward seeking  a  second  try  would  mean  the  spoiling  of  his 
comrade's  chances.  Further,  it  would  tend  to  bring  him 
into  his  line  of  fire.  Bob  wisely  stayed  where  he  was, 
peering  toward  the  opening  in  the  trees.  Of  deer  or  Dave 
he  caught  no  trace. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  moment  before  the  stag  had 
paced  to  the  covert's  edge  and  paused  to  choose  his  line 
across  the  fields,  Dave's  mind  had  turned  from  thoughts 
of  hunting  with  a  suddenness  that  he  had  never  before 
experienced.  A  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder  set  him  rigid 
in  dumb  surprise,  a  surprise  all  the  more  painful  in  that 
his  every  instinct  had  been  keyed  to  mark  the  buck's  ap- 
pearance. A  pistol  at  his  head  quickly  turned  his  aston- 
ishment to  bewilderment  and  terror.  Indeed,  it  paralyzed 
him  completely.  The  sudden  shock  of  the  thing  held  him 
motionless,  his  heart  contracting  with  stabs  of  pain,  his 
skin  prickling  hotly,  as  he  sucked  in  his  breath.  That 
was  the  natural  physical  reaction  to  the  unexpectedness 
of  it.  Dave  was  brave  as  the  next,  but  he  had  a  human 
body  and  it  functioned  as  suqh.  An  instant  of  real  tor- 
ture, and  the  boy's  brain  began  to  register  once  more,  as 
the  quickening  blood  flooded  back.  He  turned  his  head, 
rolling  sideways,  to  see,  from  where  he  had  been  lying  in 
the  snow.  For  a  wild  instant,  he  had  guessed  at  a  joke, 
but  now  he  knew  he  was  in  mortal  danger. 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  129 

"Not  a  peep  from  ye!"  A  jab  that  hurt  accompanied 
the  whisper  and  the  pistol  muzzle  poked  savagely  in  his 
rib.  "If  ye  lift  so  much  as  a  sound,  I'll  drill  ye  to  a 
sieve!  Stand  up  an'  do  as  I  tell  ye.  That's  it!" 

Dave  did  so.  He  was  afraid  now,  terribly  afraid,  but 
he  was  no  coward.  He  was  a  lot  more  self-possessed,  ac- 
tually, than  his  captor  gave  him  credit  for.  The  boy  had 
wit  enough  to  keep  his  head  and  to  see  the  folly  of  re- 
sistance. He  was  fairly  trapped  and  in  the  man's  power, 
whoever  he  might  be.  The  only  game  left  for  him  to  play 
was  one  of  instant  compliance.  Besides,  there  was  Bob — 
Bob  still  unwarned  in  the  covert.  That  settled  it.  He 
would  obey  orders  and  give  no  hint  of  his  comrade's 
presence.  The  matter  of  his  own  escape  could  come  later, 
when  they  had  gotten  a  bit  away  from  the  neighborhood 
of  the  unsuspecting  Bob. 

Led  by  the  man,  the  pistol  ever  nudging  his  side,  Dave 
slipped  back  into  a  dense  thicket.  Its  screen  had  served 
to  hide  the  former's  stealthy  approach  when  he  had  stalked 
in  upon  him,  as  the  lad  lay  on  the  ground,  every  sense 
quivering  in  anticipation  of  the  stag.  The  cedars  swung 
close,  as  they  passed  and  climbed  the  bank.  That  was  all. 

The  whole  thing  had  not  taken  more  than  a  minute. 
The  stag  had  leaped  away  toward  the  open  bottoms  when 
the  boy  and  man  had  first  moved,  but  otherwise  the  cov- 
ert's end  was  as  before. 

In  the  meantime,  Bob,  at  the  other  end  of  the  wood, 
was  calm  as  usual,  though  the  mishap  with  his  priming 
had  rendered  him  bitterly  angry.  That,  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  chase,  finally  wore  down  even  the  Scotch  pa- 
tience of  the  lad.  Would  Dave  never  fire?  What  in  the 


i3o  SANDY  FLASH 

world  was  the  matter  with  him,  anyway?  It  probably  was 
five  minutes,  but  it  seemed  like  an  hour  to  the  uneasy 
boy,  when  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Springing  to  his 
feet,  he  made  way  down  the  glen,  heading  straight  for  the 
opening  where  he  last  had  seen  the  deer.  This  was  dan- 
gerous in  view  of  his  companion's  position,  but  Bob  was 
too  impatient  to  think  of  that  and  too  untrained  a  woods- 
man to  appreciate  the  risk. 

It  was  at  a  point  halfway  down  the  hollow  that  fate 
took  a  hand  in  the  lives  of  both  boys.  Bob  stumbled. 
Had  he  not  stepped  on  the  bit  of  stone  that  rolled  away 
so  provokingly  beneath  him,  he  must  have  kept  on  and 
found  at  once  the  telltale  tracks  where  his  comrade  had 
gone  into  the  thicket  at  the  point  of  his  captor's  pistol  a 
few  moments  before.  As  fate  arranged  it,  however,  Bob 
did  step  on  that  wobbling  bit  of  stone  and  he  did  stumble 
for  fair,  bringing  up  on  hands  and  knees  with  a  bruising 
jolt.  The  large  trap  he  carried  swung  round  in  the  fall 
and  welted  his  leg  a  crack  that  he  remembered  for  many 
a  day.  Then  he  first  saw  the  water,  a  broad  gleam  of  it, 
and  the  ice,  through  the  trees,  with  a  silvery  mist  float- 
ing close  above  it. 

To  his  left,  visible  under  the  low-hanging  cedar  limbs, 
ran  Crum  Creek.  He  would  have  passed  it  by  unwittingly 
had  he  not  fallen  just  where  he  did.  As  he  hopped  about 
on  one  foot,  rubbing  his  leg,  the  sheen  of  the  water,  cou- 
pled with  the  sting  of  the  scratch,  recalled  the  purpose  for 
which  he  had  been  lugging  the  trap  about  with  him  all  day. 
Dave  must  have  seen  the  deer  and  withheld  his  fire  for 
some  good  reason,  Bob  hazarded  a  reassuring  guess.  No 
doubt  a  shot  would  whang  out  at  any  moment  now  down 


below.  Meanwhile,  he  would  steal  a  march  on  his  trap- 
ping chum  by  looking  at  the  pond,  for  pond  it  surely  was. 
That  meant  muskrat — or  beaver.  Bob  grinned  in  delight 
and  forgot  the  pain  on  his  shin.  Vividly  he  recalled  what 
Dave  had  once  told  him  of  the  value  of  a  good  beaver  pelt 
— a  prime  skin.  Chuckling  to  himself,  he  limped  to  the 
water's  edge. 

"This  is  a  find!  The  greatest  bit  of  luck  I've  ever 
had !  I  say !  This'll  make  good  old  Dave  wink  green  for 
envy!  I  might  get  one,  at  that,  if  only  they're  here — 
beaver  'stead  of  rats.  That'd  mean  something  for  the 
soldiers,  all  right,  if  I  could  sell  it  for  all  it's  really  worth 
in  silver!" 

Bob  did  not  know  a  great  deal  about  trapping,  but  he 
had  taken  in  everything  that  his  chum  had  told  him  dur- 
ing the  last  few  weeks  and  he  remembered  enough  of  it 
to  recognize  a  beaver  sign  when  he  saw  it.  The  pond  was 
not  a  disappointment,  nor  was  it  anything  to  become  es- 
pecially elated  over.  The  dam  was  there  and  it  was  the 
work  of  beaver.  A  glance  at  the  make  of  it  and  at  the 
chewed-off  ends  of  the  logs  proved  him  that  conclusively. 
Also,  that  it  was  a  long-established  one,  although  the 
slides  or  runways  by  which  the  tireless  workers  had 
floated  their  timber  to  the  dam  breast  were  still  in  evi- 
dence. Here  and  there  a  gnawed  stump  stood  in  mute  wit- 
ness of  their  work.  Bob  noticed  subconsciously  that  the 
birch  trees,  what  few  of  them  there  were,  had  suffered 
more  than  any  other  kind.  Beavers  everywhere  seem  to 
single  out  these  trees  to  gnaw  upon.  Their  tooth  marks 
shov/ed  up  very  clearly  like  the  bites  of  a  wood-carver's 
chisel. 


132  SANDY  FLASH 

Eagerly  Bob  quartered  the  pond's  edges  for  tracks,  but 
he  could  not  find  any  that  he  was  sure  of.  Had  he  been 
skilful  enough  to  locate  them,  the  big  lad  would  have  been 
surprised  at  the  resemblance  they  bore  to  the  familiar 
tracks  of  a  muskrat.  Very  much  larger,  of  course,  yet 
the  shape  is  much  the  same,  though  the  beaver  shows  but 
four  toes.  The  front  feet  are  webbed  and  register  this  in 
the  print  they  make  in  the  mud. 

Bob  sat  down  on  a  convenient  stump  to  lay  his  plans. 
He  did  not  waste  much  time  about  it.  Beaver  had 
dammed  the  pond  and  dug  the  runways;  they  had  chewed 
down  the  trees  and  barked  the  birch  saplings.  Even 
without  tracks  they  might  still  be  there,  as  the  melting 
snow  might  well  have  destroyed  fresh  marks.  He  would 
make  the  set  and  leave  the  rest  to  luck.  Recalling  what 
Dave  had  told  him,  he  chose  the  largest  log  slide,  one 
that  looked  as  if  it  might  be  still  in  use,  and  put  his  trap 
at  the  foot  of  it.  The  thaw  had  melted  the  ice  at  a 
point  where  the  slide  emptied  into  the  pond,  so  that  he 
had  no  trouble  whatever  in  setting  it  there  about  six 
or  seven  inches  under  water.  He  knew  beaver  were 
always  pottering  about  their  dams  and  getting  down  new 
logs  to  reinforce  it.  This  was  the  best  spot  to  try. 

Bob  next  cast  about  for  a  stout  stick  to  fasten  his 
chain  to.  He  had  been  warned  by  Dave  that  beaver 
would  chew  themselves  free  from  anything  green  or  from 
wood  that  rose  above  the  surface.  Having  found  the 
dry  kind  of  wood  he  wanted,  Bob  staked  the  chain  to 
it  securely  and  drove  it  under  water.  It  was  a  hard 
thing  to  do  without  falling  in  himself,  but  he  finally  suc- 
ceeded, perched  precariously  on  the  bank.  He  regretted 


THE  BEAVER  DAM  133 

that  he  did  not  have  a  much  longer  chain,  for  with  it 
he  could  have  made  the  trap  fast  to  a  log  that  lay  tempt- 
ingly out  in  the  pond  six  or  seven  feet  away.  Then  it 
would  have  been  a  simple  matter  to  have  weighted  the 
bed-piece  of  his  trap  with  a  stone  tied  to  it  and  to  have 
set  the  thing  on  the  log.  A  bit  of  popple  or  a  birch  branch 
laid  above  it  would  have  served  as  bait.  Had  he  only 
been  able  to  do  this,  his  chances  of  luck  would  have  been 
vastly  better,  for  the  snared  beaver,  granting  he  caught 
one,  would  have  dived  from  the  log  the  instant  the  trap 
snapped  upon  its  foot.  The  weighted  set  would  have  done 
the  rest.  And  speedily.  Bob  sighed.  It  is  hard  to  know 
how  to  do  a  thing  better,  then  have  to  let  a  second-rate 
makeshift  serve.  At  that,  he  had  done  a  finer  job  of 
trapping  than  he  gave  himself  credit  for.  Even  Dave 
would  have  had  to  admit  that,  if  he  had  been  there  to 
see  it. 

With  a  last  look  at  the  trap  in  the  log  slide,  the  boy 
picked  up  his  heavy  flintlock.  It  was  high  time  he 
had  hurried  on  to  find  what  had  become  of  his  comrade. 
And  of  the  stag  as  well.  It  did  not  take  him  long  to 
see  that  something  must  have  gone  wrong.  The  tracks 
at  the  cover's  edge  were  clear  enough.  Bob  dropped 
the  butt  of  his  gun  and  leaned  upon  the  long  barrel, 
as  he  frowned  over  them.  He  saw  where  Dave  had 
crept  forward  to  the  screen  of  the  little  bush  patch. 
He  saw  the  other  footprints  deep  cut  in  the  snow.  He 
read  the  trace  of  Dave's  getting  up  and  walking  back 
toward  the  cedars  that  veiled  the  slope  of  the  hollow. 
Any  suspicion  of  a  struggle  was  farthest  from  the  boy's 
mind,  as  he  noted  the  undisturbed  marks.  Some  one 


134  SANDY  FLASH 

had  evidently  joined  his  chum  and  they  had  gone  off 
together.  Perhaps,  it  was — 

Bob  Allyn  straightened  with  a  start,  as  a  voice  rasped 
from  the  bushes  near  him. 

"Drop  that  gun  where  ye  stand!  An'  drop  it  soon! 
Ye're  covered  1  Put  up  yer  hands!" 

Quicker  than  voice  could  carry  or  brain  could  act, 
Bob's  eyes  flashed  from  the  tracks  at  his  feet  to  the 
bank  above.  He  saw  a  motionless  form  bulking  large 
against  the  green,  he  saw  the  leveled  muzzle  of  a  pistol 
sloping  toward  him  from  the  cedars.  His  brain  pictured 
vividly;  he  knew  he  was  trapped,  but  it  was  beyond  the 
man  and  behind  him  that  the  boy's  gaze  held  itself  in 
helpless,  incredulous  horror.  Bob's  breath  came  short 
between  his  teeth,  as  he  gulped  and  cried  out: 

"Dave,  oh,  I—" 

Then,  without  a  thought,  not  knowing  what  he  did, 
the  lad  swung  up  his  gun  and  sprang  blindly  toward  the 
slope — straight  for  the  point  where  the  threatening  pistol 
flashed  as  flint  struck  steel. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  CAVE 

WHEN  Bob  Allyn  had  whipped  up  his  weapon  and 
jumped  for  the  bank,  he  had  acted  solely  on  im- 
pulse, although  hi  a  dim  way  he  seemed  to  sense  that 
he  could  not  fire.  Behind  the  man  at  the  edge  of  the 
cedars  lay  his  chum,  prone  upon  the  ground.  Any  bullet 
from  Bob's  gun,  were  it  to  miss  its  mark  or  were  it  not 
to  stop  in  the  man's  body,  needs  must  go  on  straight  for 
the  fallen  lad.  The  sight  of  Dave  had  spurred  Bob  to 
instant  action,  with  wit  enough  left  to  hold  his  fire.  In 
answer  to  his  leap  came  the  flash  and  whang  of  the  pistol, 
as  the  man  discharged  the  leveled  piece.  He  was  Mor- 
decai  Dougherty,  Sandy  Flash's  yoke-fellow  in  crime. 
That  the  bullet  did  not  lodge  in  the  boy's  brain  was  due 
to  no  fault  in  his  aim  or  intention.  Dougherty  had  done 
his  best  to  kill  the  lad,  but  squeezed  his  trigger  an  instant 
too  late.  As  he  had  fired,  the  barrel  had  been  knocked 
sideways  in  his  grasp  by  a  quick  blow  of  a  cudgel. 
Flash  himself  had  leaped  to  view  from  behind  the  cedars. 
"Damn  your  eyes!  Do  as  ye're  told  for  onct,  can't 
ye!"  Flash  cried  out  as  he  swung  back  his  heavy  stick 
and  stood  facing  Mordecai.  Both  men  were  fairly  quiv- 
ering with  rage.  For  the  barest  fraction  of  time  it  looked 
as  though  the  outlaw  chief  were  out  of  hand  and  on  the 
point  of  striking  his  accomplice.  Hot  wrath  flared  quick 

135 


136  SANDY  FLASH 

in  the  flush  of  his  face  and  showed  in  the  set  of  his  angry 
lips.  Then  he  turned  away  with  a  jerk  of  the  head  and 
cursed  as  he  sprang  down  the  slope  toward  Bob. 

The  lad  had  seen  the  flame  of  Dougherty's  pistol,  but 
he  had  leaped  already  and  could  not  stop.  An  instant 
later  the  sear  of  the  bullet  burned  across  his  shoulder, 
as  though  some  one  had  hit  him,  hit  him  suddenly  and 
hard,  with  a  club.  The  heavy  lead  pellet,  low  in  velocity, 
large  in  size  as  a  slug,  merely  grazed  the  flesh  of  the 
boy's  right  arm  at  the  shoulder,  but  such  was  the  force 
of  the  blow  that  it  swung  him  round  completely  on  his 
feet  and  bowled  him  over.  As  he  fell,  he  dropped  his 
gun,  reaching  instinctively  with  the  other  hand  to  cover 
the  wound.  Before  he  had  stopped  rolling,  Sandy  Flash 
had  snatched  the  flintlock  from  the  ground,  slung  it  up 
the  bank  toward  Dougherty  and  caught  hold  of  Bob's 
coat.  The  wrench  of  it  nearly  forced  a  scream  from  the 
wounded  boy. 

"Where're  ye  hit?  Serves  ye  right  for  runnin'  into  a 
gun  that  a-way,  ye  blind  fool!  Sit  up!" 

Dragging  the  half-conscious  boy  roughly  forward, 
propped  against  his  knee,  the  highwayman  tore  open  Bob's 
coat  and  bloody  shirt,  exposing  a  welt  that  traced  the 
course  of  the  bullet.  He  ran  his  finger  cruelly  down 
the  raw  wound,  then  moved  back,  letting  Bob  fall  over 
suddenly. 

"Reckon  that  won't  be  the  death  of  ye,  me  hearty. 
More  scared  than  anything  else.  Hey,  Mort,  hog-tie 
this  one  'fore  he  comes  round,  will  ye?  Then  we'll  have 
the  pair  of  'em  where  we  want  'em.  Eh?  Gasps  like  a 
Brandywine  bass,  by  the  Lord ! "  Flash's  anger  had  died 


THE  CAVE  137 

away  as  quickly  as  it  had  flamed  to  the  surface,  once 
he  saw  the  boy  had  not  been  killed.  It  was  not  so  with 
Mordecai. 

Bob  had  never  fully  lost  consciousness,  although  the 
shock  of  the  bullet  had  paralyzed  him  for  the  time  being. 
He  knew  he  was  hit.  He  knew  he  was  falling.  That 
was  all  he  did  know  clearly  till  the  jab  of  the  outlaw's 
finger  burned  the  open  wound  like  a  red-hot  poker  and 
made  him  pant  with  pain.  The  jolt  of  tumbling  back- 
ward on  the  ground  served  to  bring  him  round  entirely. 
The  boy's  shoulder  scratch  amounted  to  little  in  spite  of 
the  anguish  and  the  flow  of  blood.  As  soon  as  he  had 
gotten  himself  in  hand  from  the  shock,  he  was  able  to 
take  in  what  was  going  on  about  him. 

Mordecai  Dougherty,  livid  as  a  thunder  cloud,  slid 
down  the  bank.  He  had  wanted  to  shoot  the  boy,  once 
and  for  all,  and  he  had  done  his  best  to  do  it,  in  spite 
of  the  orders  he  had  received  from  his  superior.  Now 
he  had  lost  the  chance,  though  everything  had  been  set 
in  his  favor,  when  Bob  had  failed  to  drop  his  gun.  The 
man  was  sullen  enough  at  best,  but  his  leader's  burst 
of  anger  had  stirred  the  lowest  depths  of  his  nature  till 
his  brutish  face  set  white  with  the  fires  of  smoldering 
rage  within.  Disappointment,  black  temper  and  a  sly 
cunning  showed  all  too  plainly  in  the  twist  of  the  scoun- 
drel's mouth  and  in  his  shifty  eyes,  as  he  bent  over  the 
boy. 

CT11  larn  ye  to  know  a  pistol's  end  from  a  chestnut 
bur!"  He  rolled  the  unresisting  lad  on  his  face  with 
a  sudden  kick  of  his  heavy  boot.  Then,  with  a  wrench 
that  brought  a  cry  of  agony  from  Bob's  lips,  he  whipped 


i38  SANDY  FLASH 

the  boy's  hands  together  behind  his  back  and  made  them 
fast  there  with  a  turn  of  dirty  rag. 

The  torture  for  an  instant  was  almost  more  than  the 
lad  could  bear,  when  the  first  stretch  of  the  shoulder 
pulled  the  tendons  beneath  the  seared  flesh,  but  it  was 
only  that  sudden  stabbing  dart  of  pain  that  wrung  a 
hint  of  weakness  from  him.  After  that,  Bob  lay  as  the 
man  had  kicked  him,  face  downward  in  the  snow,  while 
his  wrists  were  knotted  securely.  He  made  no  effort 
to  cry  out.  Indeed,  the  shock  of  the  wound  had  left 
him  too  dazed  and  helpless.  The  boy  moaned  a  little 
from  time  to  time,  as  Mordecai  yanked  heartlessly  at 
the  wounded  arm.  Once  the  tall  lad  almost  choked,  as 
he  swallowed  a  mouthful  of  snow  in  a  gasp  for  breath. 
A  last  savage  pull  at  the  fastenings  and  the  man  had 
done.  He  pushed  Bob  over  on  his  side,  regardless  of 
the  bleeding  wound  that  dyed  the  trampled  surface  of 
the  snow  a  fiery  crimson. 

"There  ye  be!  An'  there  ye'll  stay!  Now,  how  does 
it  feel  to  be  in  a  trap?"  Dougherty  laughed  in  rasping 
sarcasm.  "Ain't  so  pleasant  some  ways  as  a  feather 
bed,  they  do  say."  He  stood  up.  The  laugh  turned 
to  a  scowl,  as  he  spied  Flash  bending  over  the  other 
prisoner  some  distance  off.  "Yer  rotten  foolin'  with 
these  fellers'll  be  the  end  of  us  yit.  Wot  the  deuce,  I 
sez!  The  chanct  I  had  an'  then  ye  ruinin'  it,  ye  chicken 
livered — "  The  epithet  between  the  man's  teeth  was  so 
unspeakably  vile  that  had  he  heard  it,  even  Sandy  Flash 
could  not  have  let  it  go  unchallenged.  Dougherty  knew 
his  chief,  however,  and  took  good  care  to  hold  his  mut- 
tered curses  under  breath. 


THE  CAVE  139 

"All  right,  Mort."  Sandy  Flash  swung  round. 
"Ready?  Gotten  him  tied  to  suit?  Can  he  walk?" 

"Sure  he  can  that,  the  pulin'  baby.  It's  but  the  prick 
of  a  pin  wot  he's  got  at  all."  The  man  shoved  the  boy 
with  his  foot,  but  not  so  much  as  a  moan  came  from 
Bob's  gritted  teeth.  The  boy  was  himself  now  and  game, 
fighting  with  his  last  ounce  of  strength  to  play  the  man. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  sucking  gasps  for  breath  that 
racked  him,  one  could  not  tell  that  he  was  in  pain  at  all. 

"This  one  here,"  Sandy  Flash  motioned  toward  Dave, 
"is  all  quiet.  Right  as  a  pickle!  Ain't  got  the  spunk 
of  the  big  feller,  though,  or  he  might  of  raised  a  rumpus, 
too,  when  we  nabbed  him.  He  never  so  much  as  lifted 
finger!" 

"Speakin'  o'  that,  it  seems  to  me  he  nearly  bit  the 
thumb  off  ye,  Cap'n,  wotever  the  lamb  was  doin',  when 
ye  started  to  put  the  gag  to  him.  Ha!  hal  Ye  let  go 
quick  enough!" 

Sandy  Flash  ignored  the  laugh.  Reaching  down  with 
a  mighty  heave  he  yanked  Dave  to  his  feet.  The  lad's 
arms  were  tied  like  his  chum's  behind  his  back  and  a 
gag  had  been  placed  in  his  mouth  by  the  ready  expedient 
of  a  stick  set  fast  against  his  jaws,  forcing  them  open 
in  a  strained  uncomfortable  way.  Still  he  could  breathe 
all  right.  Sandy  ripped  loose  the  knot  that  tied  his  feet. 

"Put  the  silencer  on  your  beauty,  too,  Mort,  an'  come 
along.  No  more  shootin',  mind  ye,  an'  raisin'  the  coun- 
tryside. Ye  needn't  be  killin'  the  lad  in  the  bargain, 
with  that  rip  in  him."  The  outlaw  glanced  at  the  cut 
as  the  boy  lay  on  the  ground.  The  bleeding  had  nearly 
stopped,  but  the  wound  looked  cruelly  painful  for  all 


i4o  SANDY  FLASH 

its  slight  penetration.  "Gag  him  an'  come  on.  An'  stop 
that  maulin'  of  him.  I'll  not  tell  ye  so  again." 

"Wot  the — "  Mordecai  broke  off,  thinking  the  better 
of  it.  "Right  ye  be,  Cap'n,  right  ye  be!  This  here  bird's 
ready  now,  soon  as  ever  I  makes  sure  he  won't  be  warblin' 
no  pretty  ditties  fer  to  call  out  the  folks,  onct  we  begins 
to  move.  Open  yer  jaws,  sweety,  an'  try  chawin'  on  this 
here  candy  stick!  'Tis  a  lollypop  fer  to  tickle  yer 
tongue ! " 

The  man  rolled  Bob  over  on  his  back  and  forced  his 
mouth  wide  by  a  sudden  jabbing  of  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger against  the  boy's  cheeks.  Before  he  could  close 
it  again,  Mordecai  had  set  a  piece  of  wood,  bit-like,  be- 
tween the  jaws  and  tied  it  there.  Then  he  pulled  Bob 
to  his  feet,  steadying  the  wounded  lad  till  he  had  gotten 
over  the  star-shot  dizziness  that  swept  before  his  eyes. 
The  outlaw  replaced  the  ripped  coat  upon  the  cut  and 
turned  toward  the  slope  where  Flash  was  waiting. 

"Forward  ho!  Cap'n  Fitz!  I'll  folly  on.  We've  a 
mighty  open  bit  o'  goin'  fer  to  cover,  it  strikes  me,  'fore 
ever  we  comes  to  that  there  palace  of  our'n  on  the  Castle 
Rock."  Dougherty  held  fast  to  Bob's  arm  and  pushed 
him  up  the  bank.  "I've  got  this  un's  gun.  Will  ye  lug 
the  other?" 

"All  right.  The  light'll  help  us."  Sandy  Flash  glanced 
about,  noting  the  quick  deepening  of  twilight  shadows 
in  the  glade,  as  the  winter  day  drew  on  to  dusk.  "In 
half  an  hour  ye  couldn't  see  your  granny's  belted  cow, 
not  for  the  lookin'.  We'll  hide  a  bit  at  the  road  and 
cross  when  it's  darker.  Eh,  Mort,  me  hearty,  ye  can  rest 


THE  CAVE  141 

ye  merry  this  night!  It  took  a  long  wait  to  get  'em, 
but  now  we've  nabbed  the  pair  of  'em  and — " 

"Wot  good  on  earth  will  that  do  us,  I  likes  to  know?" 
Mordecai  shook  his  head. 

"Wait  an'  ye'll  see  soon  enough,  me  doubtin'  Thomas. 
Ye  haven't  mislaid  the  gold  an'  the  feller  who's  to  ride 
past  with  it,  have  ye?" 

"Wot's  that  got  to  do  with  this  here  brace  o'  bucks? 
They  ain't  got  a  brass  farthing  apiece." 

"They're  not  goin'  to  have  any  chanct,  one  way  or 
t'other,  to  spoil  the  broth,  what  with  their  trappin'  an' 
;wanderin'  about  the  whole  place  day  an'  night.  That's 
what!  Runnin'  into  what  don't  concern  'em!  That's 
why  we've  gotten  'em.  An'  trouble  enough  I've  had  to 
do  it,  small  thanks  to  ye.  After  we're  through  an'  gotten 
the  gold  put  where  we  want  it,  why,  then  it'll  be  time  an' 
plenty  to  finish  with  these  here.  Ye  know  what  I  was 
tellin'  ye  in  the  cave  tother  day?" 

"Why  not  now,  then,  seein'  as  we've  gotten  'em  safe 
an'  sound,  an'  one  of  'em  half  shot  in  the  bargain?  Say, 
Cap'n,  wot's  the  use  o'  runnin'  more  risks  than  need? 
Let  me  have  'em  half  a  jiffy,  an'  ye'll  not  hear  the  squeal 
of  a  pig,  so  much,  from  the  pair  of  'em!"  Dougherty 
motioned  toward  his  leg  where  the  haft  of  his  dirk  pro- 
truded from  the  top  of  the  woolen  stocking. 

"Mort,  me  beauty,  ye've  not  got  the  brains  of  a  calf, 
for  all  your  bloody  blatherin'.  It'd  do  us  no  good  to 
murder  the  brats.  They're  more  ways  o'  killin'  a  cat, 
they  say,  than  chokin'  it  with  cream!"  Sandy  laughed. 
It  was  not  a  nice  sound  to  hear. 


i42  SANDY  FLASH 

Dougherty  half  turned  and  looked  at  him  curiously. 

A  few  moments  later  the  little  group  began  its  march 
toward  the  crossing  of  the  Strasburg  Road  and  the  height 
of  Castle  Rock.  The  shadows  had  already  lengthened 
till  the  bowl  of  Crum  Creek  Valley  lay  filled  with  a  con- 
fusing play  of  light,  golden  and  violet  and  dark  to  the 
color  of  purple  asters  against  the  sweep  of  the  snow. 
The  men  walked  rapidly,  keeping  close  to  the  west  bank 
of  the  brook,  where  the  gloom  of  alders  and  willow 
trunks  gave  shelter  to  their  passing.  Twenty  minutes 
after  they  had  left  the  cedar  glen,  they  were  climbing 
Castle  Rock. 

Bob  was  in  a  bad  way,  what  with  the  shock  of  the 
wound  and  the  manhandling  he  had  received  from  Dough- 
erty, but  the  big  lad  got  no  pity  from  either  of  his 
captors  as  they  dragged  him  along.  Dave  was  far  better 
off.  He  had  not  been  tied  so  roughly  and  he  had  had 
a  chance  to  collect  his  thoughts.  The  boy  had  listened 
to  everything  that  was  said  by  the  men.  He  had  no 
vague  idea  to  what  they  referred  when  they  spoke  of 
the  rider  and  the  gold,  but  he  understood  clearly  enough 
that  some  villainy  was  afoot. 

One  thing  was  especially  clear.  He  must  devise  a 
way  of  making  good  his  escape  with  Bob  before  the  men 
could  come  to  an  agreement  as  to  what  they  should  do 
with  them.  From  the  little  he  had  seen  of  Dougherty's 
heartless  savagery  and  Flash's  veiled  threats,  the  sooner 
they  were  out  of  their  hands  the  better  it  would  be. 
Haste  was  urgent.  At  the  same  time,  he  felt  that  he 
ought  to  learn  something  more  of  the  devil's  scheme  his 
captors  were  plotting.  That  it  was  of  considerable  mo- 


THE  CAVE  143 

ment,  there  could  be  no  doubt.  The  boy  knew  much 
depended  on  him  and  his  chum.  The  realization  of  their 
responsibility  seemed  to  awaken  his  latent  mother-wit 

Dave  had  given  up  without  a  fight,  when  Sandy  Flash 
had  surprised  him  waiting  for  the  stag.  He  had  sub- 
mitted tamely  to  being  tied,  because  he  thought  that  by 
so  doing  he  was  giving  Bob  a  chance  at  escape.  It  was 
only  when  he  found  out — too  late — that  the  men  were 
in  ambush  for  his  comrade,  as  well,  that  the  boy  made 
a  last  desperate  attempt  to  struggle,  to  cry  out  in  warn- 
ing. Then  it  was  that  he  had  bitten  at  the  outlaw's 
hand  as  the  gag  was  crammed  into  his  mouth.  Dave 
reproached  himself  with  all  the  bitterness  that  a  boy 
is  capable  of  when  he  realized  that  he  had  failed  in 
the  one  thing  he  had  tried  hardest  to  do.  He  was  human 
enough  to  fear  what  Bob  might  think.  The  older  boy 
had  not  hesitated.  He  had  leaped  forward  in  the  face 
of  a  pointed  pistol,  when  he  saw  his  friend  in  trouble. 
He  had  been  shot.  But  Dave — what  had  he  done  in  the 
crisis?  Meekly  given  up  and  let  his  chum  walk  unwarned 
into  the  trap!  The  lad  tortured  himself  unmercifully 
with  self-reproach  and  contempt.  He  must  make  good 
now  to  redeem  himself  in  the  eyes  of  his  friend.  It 
were  better  to  die  in  the  effort  and  have  done  with  it 
than  let  Bob  think  he  had  failed  him  so  miserably  and 
played  the  coward. 

Once  the  men  had  reached  the  top  of  Castle  Rock, 
they  lost  no  time  in  getting  their  prisoners  into  the  cave. 
A  light  was  made  and  the  boys  were  ungagged.  Sandy 
Flash  slit  the  bonds  that  bound  their  arms.  While 
Pave  swung  his  to  and  fro,  trying  to  get  some  circula- 


144  SANDY  FLASH 

tion  in  them,  Bob  nursed  his  shoulder.  The  wound  had 
stiffened  and  made  him  wince  at  every  motion.  Dave 
turned  toward  his  chum.  He  could  not  endure  the  re- 
proach of  another  moment's  silence. 

"Bob— I— you  know  I  didn't— I  tried—"  The  words 
would  not  come  from  the  lad's  lips  as  he  saw  the  blood- 
soaked  shirt  and  the  torn  coat  of  homespun  beneath  the 
older  boy's  hand.  "Can't  I  fix  it  up  a  little?  I  say — oh, 
Bob,  you  mustn't  think  I  went  and  let  'em  get  you!  I 
never  thought  they  were  still  in  wait  till  it  was  too  late 
to  warn  you." 

"It  isn't  a  thing.  Just  a  scratch.  What's  the  matter, 
Davey?  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  jiffy.  It's  a  bit  sore  and 
stiff,  that's  all.  Honest!" 

Sandy  Flash  came  over  to  where  the  boys  were  talking. 
He  held  in  his  hands  an  old-fashioned  pair  of  leg  irons, 
clumsy  and  heavily  wrought.  A  rusty  chain  rattled  from 
them. 

"This'll  hold  ye  quiet  in  our  little  nest,  me  hearties! 
Now  just  one  word.  Mind,  it's  the  last,  so  be  wise  an* 
take  it  in.  Ye're  here  to  stay  till  I  see  fit  to  let  ye  go. 
Understand?  If  ye  lift  a  finger  to  get  away,  I'll  not 
touch  ye,  but — "  He  nodded  across  the  gloomy  cavern 
to  where  Mordecai  was  working  over  the  fire,  amid  the 
flickering  red  of  the  shadows,  like  some  giant  of  the 
olden  time.  "But  he  will!  Ye've  seen  what  a  gentle 
fellow  he  is.  You  have  anyway,  me  big  buck."  Sandy 
Flash  eyed  Bob  appraisingly.  "That's  where  we  stand. 
Do  as  I  say  an'  the  friend  yonder  will  not  touch  ye. 
But  if  ye  don't,  why —  Clear,  is  it?  Well,  then,  out 


THE  CAVE  145 

with  a  leg  apiece.  That  old  sheriff  in  Newlin  had  only 
a  pair  o'  these  when  I  lightened  him  of  his  stuff,  but  I 
reckon  they'll  do  for  two,  as  well  as  for  one." 

The  irons  rasped  apart  with  a  creak  as  the  rusted 
jaws  were  pulled,  but  they  were  serviceable  enough  and 
tough  withal.  The  metal  clicked  ominously  as  it  closed 
about  Dave's  left  leg.  Sandy  Flash  pushed  aside  Bob's 
right  foot  and  clipped  the  band  about  the  left  ankle  with 
a  savage  jerk.  The  chain  was  half  a  foot  long,  com- 
pelling the  lads  to  stay  close  together  side  by  side. 

"How's  that,  Mort?"  Sandy  laughed,  as  the  other 
came  over  to  see.  "I've  got  'em  both  by  the  left  foot, 
so  that  when  they  stand  up  one  faces  one  way  an'  one 
the  tother!  Not  run  far  away  that  a-way,  I  reckon,  less 
they  want  to  turn  into  a  merry-go-round-the-Maypole ! 
They  can  lie  down  all  right,  too.  Now  then,  let's  get  a 
bite  to  eat  an'  a  bit  of  heat  in  this  frozen  hole,  while 
the  lads  stay  neatly  hobbled  on  their  picket  line!" 

He  crossed  the  cavern  and  began  to  work  over  the 
fire,  while  Dougherty  busied  himself  with  the  meal.  It 
did  not  give  promise  of  being  a  sumptuous  one. 

In  a  moment,  however,  the  leader  came  back  to  where 
Bob  sat  shivering  on  the  floor.  He  had  with  him  a  small 
firkin  of  water  that  had  been  warming  over  the  sticks 
on  the  hearth. 

"Boy,  ye'd  better  wash  out  that  cut  a  bit.  Here's  some 
water  an'  a  dry  rag  to  tie  it  up  with."  The  man  spoke 
almost  kindly.  It  was  one  of  the  shifts  that  made  his 
character  such  a  web  of  contrast.  A  few  moments  before 
he  had  been  planning  unspeakable  abuses  to  force  the 


i46  SANDY  FLASH 

boys  to  his  will.  Now  he  had  veered  round  and  fetched 
the  bandage.  Dougherty  shook  his  head  and  muttered 
to  himself.  He  could  make  nothing  of  his  chief. 

Dave  took  the  little  jug  of  water  before  Bob  could 
reach  for  it.  Then  without  more  ado  he  pulled  back 
his  comrade's  clothing  and  began  to  wash  the  wound 
with  the  cloth.  This  done,  he  tied  it  up  as  best  he  could. 
At  all  events  he  felt  it  might  keep  some  dirt  from  the 
ripped  flesh.  Last  of  all  he  fixed  the  arm  in  a  rude 
sort  of  sling  made  from  his  own  neckerchief.  Bob  helped 
him  clumsily,  wincing  from  pain,  as  the  arm  was  moved. 
The  slug  had  seared  its  way  considerably  deeper  than 
at  first  appeared. 

"Thanks,  Dave,  a  lot.  I  say!  That's  fine!  You're 
handy  as  can  be — regular  medico!  It  feels  a  lot  better 
already.  Really,  it  does!  Let's  pull  that  blanket  over 
us  now  and  try  keep  warm.  The  fire's  making  this  place 
pretty  decent." 

Dave  began  to  explain  once  more  his  action  earlier 
in  the  day.  The  boy's  conscience  would  give  him  no 
rest  and  the  less  Bob  said  of  it,  the  more  the  younger 
boy  felt  that  he  had  well  deserved  his  chum's  contempt. 
However,  he  stopped  finally,  when  he  saw  that  Bob 
understood  what  had  occurred. 

"I  say!  Don't  go  on  like  a  fool,  Davey.  Please  don't! 
I  knew  you  couldn't  help  it.  We've  got  to  get  out  of 
this  mess.  And  pretty  quick,  too,  it  seems  to  me."  He 
lowered  his  voice.  "Let's  think  of  that  now.  This  thing's 
beginning  to  look  mighty  serious  for  us." 

It  was  a  good  deal  easier,  however,  to  whisper  of  escape 
than  to  carry  it  out.  For  over  an  hour  the  lads  lay 


THE  CAVE  147 

huddled  up  in  their  blanket,  trying  to  keep  some  warmth 
between  them,  while  they  whispered  in  low  tones.  When 
the  men  had  made  ready  the  meal,  the  boys  were  given 
a  share  of  it,  such  as  it  was.  Not  much,  but  it  served 
to  cheer  them  in  a  surprising  fashion,  for  they  had  feared 
they  might  not  get  even  a  taste  of  it.  Bob  sat  back 
against  the  wall  with  a  boylike  sigh  of  content,  chewing 
away  at  a  hunk  of  stewed  rabbit.  Little  did  he  fancy 
that  it  had  come  from  their  own  snare  by  Ridley  and 
the  men  did  not  bother  enlightening  him.  Finally  the 
lad's  mind,  wearied  with  thinking  of  the  predicament 
they  were  in,  turned  back  to  the  beaver  dam  and  he  told 
Dave  briefly  of  the  set  he  had  made  there  just  before 
being  captured.  The  story  filled  the  young  trapper  with 
delight.  After  all,  they  would  get  away  from  the  cave 
some  way,  some  time.  No  good  could  come  from  vain 
worry.  Dave  grinned,  present  dangers  slipping  from  him, 
in  a  flood  of  enthusiasm  for  his  favorite  sport. 

"Oh,  that's  great,  Bob!  You  set  it  well,  too.  Was 
there  very  much  ice?  If  it — " 

"Not  so  much."  Bob  touched  gingerly  at  his  shoulder. 
"Some,  though,  out  in  the  middle." 

"If  there's  ice,  the  way  they  try  for  'em  is  to  cut  a 
wee  hole  in  it  just  over  where  the  water's  about  fifteen 
or  twenty  inches  deep.  Then  they  go  and  put  the  trap 
through  it  on  the  bottom,  right  under  the  hole,  you 
know,  and  cover  the  opening  up  with  some  snow  to  pre- 
vent it  freezing  solid  again.  The  beavers  see  the  hole 
by  the  light  coming  through  it  and  they  come  near  then 
to  breathe.  That  makes  'em  step  on  the  trap  as  they 
are  reaching  up." 


148  SANDY  FLASH 

"It's  about  the  cleverest  thing  I've  heard  tell  of  yet 
in  the  trapping  line!"  Bob's  voice  was  low  but  full  of 
enthusiasm.  "That's  a  pippin,  Davey!  If  we  ever  get 
out  of  here,  we'll  try  it.  I  wish  to  goodness  I  knew  how 
we  could  get  out." 

"Yes,  so  do  I."  Dave  went  on  with  his  description. 
"And  it  works  as  well  as  any,  they  say,  too,  that  ice  set 
does.  My!  If  we  could  only  get  a  beaver,  it'd  help  us 
more'n  anything  else,  most.  And  we  could  use  the  oil 
they  have.  It's  great  to  smear  on  traps  to  hide  the  man 
scent.  Father  used  to  get  'em  when  he  was  a  boy  in 
Valley  Creek,  near  St.  Peter's,  Whiteland.  There's  a 
great  place  there,  close  by  Cedar  Hollow.  He  made  a 
kind  of  ointment  out  of  it,  father  used  to.  I've  often 
heard  him  tell  it  and  how  he  went  and  caught  'em  through 
the  ice." 

"I  never  knew  beaver  had  that  scent."  Bob  hitched 
the  blanket  about  his  shoulders.  "Did  you  ever  see  one 
skinned?" 

"No,  I  never  did,  but  all  the  old  trappers  use  it  just 
the  same.  Another  way  father  got  'em,  when  he  trapped, 
was  to  put  his  set  at  the  entrance  to  their  houses  under 
the  water.  You  can  see  their  mounds  sometimes,  like 
muskrat  dens,  only  bigger,  in  the  dams  they  build. 
They're  most  of  all  like  rmiskrats  anyway,  eating  bark 
from  trees  and  chewing  yellow  pond  lilies  and  things 
like  that.  Then  they  store  stuff  up  to  beat  all!  That's 
why  they're  so  hard  at  work  all  the  while — getting  ready 
for  winter — laying  in  fodder  like  we  fill  bins  and  hay 
mows!  Father's  seen  'em  at  it  many  a  time." 

At  the  mention  of  Hugh  Thomas,  Bob  suddenly  recalled 


THE  CAVE  149 

with  a  start  that  he  had  promised  his  own  father  to 
be  home  in  good  time  that  evening,  if  such  a  thing  could 
be  managed  after  the  long  day's  hunt.  Until  this  moment, 
his  mind  had  been  so  filled  with  trapping  and  the  pre- 
dicament he  and  his  chum  were  in  that  no  thought  of 
home  had  entered.  He  stirred  uneasily  beneath  the 
blanket. 

"I  say,  Dave,  I've  just  remembered  I  told  father  we'd 
call  off  the  hunt  before  dark,  wherever  we  happened  to 
be  so  that  we  could  get  back  in  decent  time.  Whatever 
will  they  think  now?  It's  well  in  the  night  and  we  don't 
know  that  we'll  be  freed  for  days.  Can't  tell  when  they'll 
let  us  go!" 

"I've  been  bothering  about  that  right  along,"  the 
younger  boy  replied,  as  he  helped  pull  the  covering  over 
his  companion  where  the  other's  restlessness  had  tossed 
it  off.  "We  are  in  a  sorry  pickle  here,  that's  a  fact. 
And  our  folks  at  home  will  worry  all  right,  but  it  can't 
be  helped  far  as  I  can  see.  I  didn't  want  to  make  things 
any  worse  by  talking  to  you  about  it.  Being  shot  is 
bad  enough  for  once.  So  I  talked  traps.  But  it's  not 
so  blue  as  it  seems.  Not  yet.  Really,  it  isn't,  Bob.  Our 
folks  know  we're  way  off  somewhere  after  that  stag  and 
they'll  think  we've  been  delayed.  Why,  father  wouldn't 
take  it  strange  if  I  wasn't  back  for  another  day  yet!" 

"My  father  would.  Or  rather  mother'd  begin  to  worry. 
She  got  all  upset  at  our  meeting  Sandy  Flash  when  I  told 
her  of  it  last  time.  Still,  I  reckon  you're  right  about 
to-night.  They'll  be  sure  to  think  we're  staying  in  a 
farmhouse  after  a  long  hunt.  We'll  plan  some  way  of 
getting  out  of  here  in  the  morning.  We've  got  to.  I  bet 


150  SANDY  FLASH 

the  men  leave  the  cave  then.    That's  our  one  chance." 
"No  doubt  of  it,  Bob.    Let's  get  the  best  rest  we  can 
now,  though.     We'll  need  it  before  we  see  the  end  of 
this!" 

Both  boys  were  feeling  the  effects  of  their  ordeal. 
They  were  a  good  deal  more  scared  than  either  cared 
to  admit.  Bob  Allyn,  usually  unable  to  look  on  the 
gloomy  side  of  anything,  was  still  weak  and  shaken  by 
his  wound.  Dave,  though  unhurt,  felt  the  blame  for 
his  chum's  suffering.  The  younger  boy  had  done  more 
than  he  appreciated,  however,  in  driving  away  from  Bob's 
mind  the  worriment  about  their  parents  which  had  begun 
to  distress  him.  Little  by  little  nature  asserted  herself, 
and  the  boys  rested  more  calmly.  The  very  closeness  of 
their  bodies,  the  animal  warmth  of  contact  beneath  the 
blanket  served  to  lull  them,  to  give  them  a  feeling  of 
security.  After  all,  the  human  race  has  never  gone  very 
far  beyond  the  tribal  stage.  In  time  of  trouble,  we  all 
want  to  herd  together,  feeling  the  surety  of  numbers. 

The  boys  were  silent  a  long  time,  cuddled  side  by  side 
in  the  dim  flicker  of  the  tallow  dip  that  spluttered  from 
the. wall  of  the  cave  over  near  the  fireplace.  Though 
dry,  the  place  was  cold  and  the  few  sticks  made  little 
impression  on  the  chill.  The  blanket  wrapped  tight  about 
them  served  to  keep  them  fairly  comfortable,  in  spite 
of  the  strain  of  being  chained  so  fast  together.  To  make 
the  most  of  it,  they  had  twisted  the  covering  under  and 
over  them  as  snugly  as  they  could.  Scarcely  realizing 
it,  first  Dave,  then  Bob,  drifted  off  in  a  doze,  their  senses 
lulled  by  the  gloom  of  the  place  and  their  bodies  fairly 
worn  to  exhaustion  by  the  stalking  of  the  stag  and  the 


THE  CAVE  151 

excitement  of  their  capture.  That  had  been  overwhelm- 
ing. 

There  was  little  to  disturb  their  deepening  slumber. 
The  men  sat  crouched  by  the  glow  of  the  fire,  talking 
in  low  tones.  Apparently  they  were  on  the  best  of  terms 
once  more.  It  must  have  been  half  past  nine  when 
Sandy  Flash  got  up,  stretching  a  booted  leg  toward  the 
logs,  as  he  looked  at  the  boys.  The  sound  of  their 
breathing  told  of  the  untroubled  sleep  that  held  them  fast. 
There  was  no  deception  here  and  he  knew  it.  Flash  Ibent 
low  and  crossed  the  cave  on  tiptoe  to  feel  in  a  bag  that 
lay  in  one  corner.  He  drew  out  of  it  a  small  bit  of  paper 
and  a  quill.  Then  he  shook  the  leather  saddle  case  softly 
till  he  had  touched  a  vial  of  ink.  He  rattled  it  in  his 
hand. 

"Dry  as  Job's  coffin ! "  Sandy  Flash  came  back  to  the 
fire.  "Fetch  me  a  dip  of  water  from  the  pail  yonder,  will 
ye,  Mort?  That's  the  way.  We'll  soon  have  this  here 
softened  up  to  write  to  the  King's  taste.  Then  I  reckon 
we'd  better  be  gettin'  the  thing  done  so's  we  can  leave 
it  over  to  Rose  Tree  where  they'll  be  sure  an'  find  it  in 
the  mornin'.  It  won't  take  us  more'n  a  jiffy!  Don't  make 
a  racket,  Mort.  Go  easy,  can't  you!" 

"Wot'll  you  write,  Cap'n?"  The  man  paused,  then 
fetched  the  mug  of  water,  without  disturbing  either  of 
the  boys. 

"Oh,  just  a  line  from  one  of  'em  sayin'  the  tother 
has  been  made  off  with  by  Sandy  Flash  an'  that  he  was 
followin'  over  toward  the  Valley  for  to  try  an'  get  his 
friend  free.  They  know  I  was  hereabouts  two  weeks  gone, 
'cause  that  old  feller  from  Edgemont  raised  a  hullaballoo 


152  SANDY  FLASH 

when  I  tied  him  to  a  tree.  That'll  be  a  plenty  to  set  the 
farmers  chasin'  clean  across  to  Cain  up  the  Valley,  just 
where  I  want  'em.  Then,  to-morrow  night,  while  they're 
still  gallopin'  hell  for  leather,  a-lookin'  for  the  lads  in  the 
country  over  yonder,  we'll  have  the  whole  place  here  free 
for  what  we're  planning  to  do.  The  thing's  plain  as 
apples  on  a  tree!" 

"Don't  see  it."  Dougherty  shook  his  head.  "Won't 
work!  If  one  was  caught  an'  tother  was  tryin'  fer  to 
get  him  loose  an'  follyin'  us  on,  how'd  he  come  to  write 
a  letter  to  his  folks  at  home  an'  leave  it  where  they'd 
find  it  first  thing?  If  he  was  that  close,  he'd  run  in  fer 
help,  I'm  thinkin'.  It's  no  go,  Cap'n  Fitz.  No  go!  Wot 
I  sez  is  we'd  best — " 

"I  haven't  thought  it  all  out  yet."  Sandy  Flash  tapped 
irritably  with  his  foot  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  cave. 
"I've  been  busy  most  plannin'  for  the  gold  an'  the  man 
on  horseback.  I  reckon  maybe —  What  would  you  do?" 
Flash,  a  rare  thing  with  him,  felt  a  moment  of  uncer- 
tainty. He  saw  his  hurried  plan  was  weak.  Dougherty 
was  right.  It  never  would  work. 

"Wot  I  claims  as  the  trick  to  turn  is  a  letter  askin' 
fer  what  they  calls  a  ransing.  To  be  left  over  in  what-ye- 
may-call-it,  far  from  here  as  ever  ye  please.  These  here 
farmin'  folks  haven't  anythin'  much  to  give  fer  a  brace 
o'  brats  like  these,  but  they've  a  good  deal  o'  siller 
tankards  an'  one  thing  an'  another  stored  away.  That 
we  knows.  More  than  that,  too,  hidden  away  in  cellars 
an'  garrets!  Now,  seein'  their  boys  have  been  an'  gotten 
made  off  with,  they'll  either  try  to  raise  a  bit  o'  coin — the 
same  which  we  don't  really  want  since  we're  after  bigger 


THE  CAVE  153 

game  altogether,  or  they'll  fly  hot-headed  after  us  to 
wheresoever  we  says  they're  to  leave  the  money.  That's 
just  what  we  wants  'em  to  do!  Wot  I  knows  of  'em, 
they'll  do  it,  too,  not  wastin'  no  time  collectin'  funds. 
These  here  fellers  are  fighters,  Cap'n!  As  fightin'  fools 
as  ever  Lee's  Legion!  If  they  up  an'  chast  ye  all  the  day 
when  they  hears  ye're  in  the  neighborhood,  like  as  they 
did  a  bit  ago  from  Birmingham,  wot'll  they  do  when  they 
finds  their  brats  took  off  by  ye  an'  held  fer  pay?  Why, 
they'll  rare  up  an'  tear  the  country  loose ! " 

"Ye've  brains  after  all,  Mort,  me  hearty!"  Sandy 
grinned  with  quick  approval.  "We'll  do  just  that.  What's 
more  we'll  give  the  lads  a  taste  that'll  make  'em  waste  no 
time  doin'  what  we  say.  I'll  write  this  ransom  thing  now 
an'  then  we'll  have  'em  sign  it,  hot  off,  so  as  that  we  can 
leave  it  over  to  their  place  this  night.  They'll  do  it  quick 
as  ever  we  put  it  to  'em.  An'  their  folks'll  find  it  at 
crow  o'  cock!" 

"Where  they  live?"  Mordecai  Dougherty  watched 
Sandy  as  he  mixed  the  dried  ink.  "Do  ye  know,  fer 
sure?" 

"Not  just  where,  I  don't.  Down  Providence  Road 
somewhere.  They'll  tell  us  where  their  folks  are,  too,  I 
reckon.  They'll  sign  soon  enough,  never  ye  fear,  onct 
they  see  what's  comin'  to  'em  if  they  don't.  We've  no 
time  to  lose  hagglin'  over  it.  Wake  'em  up,  Mort.  No, 
better  wait,  I  guess,  till  we're  ready  to  begin  on  'em 
proper.  It'll  scare  'em  more,  comin'  sudden  thata-way!" 

Sandy  Flash's  face  was  a  fiend's  mask  of  cruelty  as 
he  grinned.  The  degenerate  instinct  that  had  led  him 
to  lash  old  Peter  Burgandine  so  wantonly  now  turned 


154  SANDY  FLASH 

toward  the  helpless  boys  with  all  the  more  abandon  for 
his  recent  kindness  in  bringing  Bob  the  bandage  for  his 
wound.  Flash  felt  that  he  had  weakened  in  that. 

Dougherty,  blackguard  that  he  was,  saw  the  change 
in  his  leader's  eyes  and  wondered  at  the  wave  of  disgust 
that  swept  over  him  for  the  other's  brutality,  though  he 
little  suspected  to  what  end  the  man  would  go. 

Sandy  Flash  bent  low  to  the  fire,  blowing  the  embers 
in  a  hot  glow  between  cupped  hands.  As  the  flames  rose 
and  twisted  in  answer  among  the  sticks  and  gleaming 
coals,  he  picked  up  the  little  bar  of  iron  from  the  hearth. 
It  had  done  duty  as  a  poker  and  as  a  support  on  which 
to  rest  the  skillet.  This  he  pushed  into  the  heart  of  the 
flaming  wood,  turning  it  about  and  working  it  in  with  a 
practised  play  of  wrist  that  spoke  the  smith. 

"They'll  talk,  the  sleepin'  beauties!  They'll  sign  an 
do  whatever  we  ask  'em!  They  say  fire  an'  heat  makes 
iron  run.  Aye!  An'  words,  too,  I'm  sayin'!  Heat's  a 
great  persuader  when  ye  put  it  to  a  body  right.  Just 
rest  ye  easy,  Mort,  me  dear,  an'  ye'll  see  how  to  make 
the  good  round  sovereigns  flow  from  a  tax  collector's 
pocket  when  he  swears  he  hasn't  ha'penny  to  his  name! 
I've  tried  heat  an'  iron  before.  It'll  work!  It'll  sweat 
'em." 

"It's  crueller  nor  me  ye  be,  Cap'n  Fitz,  fer  a  fact." 
Dougherty  looked  uneasily  toward  the  fire.  "I've  killed 
afore  this,  when  I  has  to,  but  I  never  took  to  torturin' 
children.  I  fights  as  hard  as  the  best,  but  I  fights  men!" 

"Never  ye  fear,  Mort,  me  darlin'!  Don't  be  boilin' 
over  before  there's  need.  They'll  not  take  much  o'  killin' 
this  night."  He  pulled  out  the  rod  and  spat  on  the 


THE  CAVE  155 

end  that  was  beginning  to  glow  dully.  "Just  a  touch 
or  so,  a  bit  o'  persuadin'  to  wake  'em  up  an'  ye'll  see  a 
pair  o'  lambs!  Tis  but  a  good  old  gipsy  trick,  I'm  after 
usin'  on  'em!  Are  ye  ready,  me  buck,  to  hold  the  darlin's 
while  the  shearin's  on?  If  there's  bleatin'  to  distress  your 
ears  or  wake  the  neighbors,  just  roll  up  their  heads  in 
the  blanket  an'  sit  on  'em.  There's  precious  few  will 
hear  anything  in  this  wilderness,  I'm  sayin'!" 

Sandy  Flash  rose  from  his  knees,  holding  the  smoking 
bar  of  iron  in  his  hand.  Dougherty  felt  covertly  for  the 
knife  in  his  stocking.  He  had  no  fear  of  Dave,  misjudg- 
ing the  strength  of  the  lad  because  he  was  a  boy  in  size, 
but  Bob's  great  build  and  play  of  muscle  had  not  been 
lost  upon  him  earlier  in  the  day  when  he  had  tied  the 
wounded  boy's  wrists.  Shackled  as  both  youths  were, 
he  would  take  no  chances. 

As  the  outlaw  crossed  the  cave,  Dave  stirred  uneasily 
and  awoke.  For  an  instant  he  did  not  know  where  he 
was,  but  the  bite  of  the  anklet  as  he  shifted  his  feet 
brought  back  his  surroundings  with  an  unpleasant  shock 
of  reality.  It  also  awoke  Bob.  The  big  lad  groaned, 
as  he  turned  and  felt  the  sting  of  his  shoulder.  Then, 
simultaneously,  the  boys  caught  sight  of  Sandy  Flash 
standing  over  them  with  the  dull  glow  of  the  iron  in  his 
hand.  Neither  lad  realized  at  all  what  he  was  about. 

The  scene  held  motionless  for  a  full  half  moment  in 
the  shifting  murk  of  the  cavern.  Then  three  things  hap- 
pened at  once. 

Dave,  awake  at  last  and  half  mad  with  terror,  caught 
the  pungent  taste  of  hot  metal  and  saw  the  purpose  of 
the  bar  in  the  outlaw's  grasp.  Dougherty  forestalled  the 


156  SANDY  FLASH 

lad's  attempt  to  move  by  throwing  himself  bodily  across 
both  boys,  meshing  them  helpless  under  his  own  great 
weight  in  the  tangling  folds  of  the  blanket.  Sandy  Flash, 
quick  to  seize  the  opening  offered,  bent  forward  and 
snatched  with  his  free  hand  at  Dave's  arm,  as  the  boy 
writhed  in  helpless  panic  to  squirm  away.  The  lad's 
sleeve  ripped  sharply,  then  tore  off.  The  bared  flesh 
gleamed  white  to  the  shoulder  as  the  muscles  whipped  and 
strained  beneath  the  skin.  The  highwayman  exerted  his 
strength  with  a  sudden  wrench  that  forced  the  boy's 
elbow  backward,  bent  cruelly  tense  against  his  knee. 
Dave's  breath  sucked  gaspingly.  Suddenly  Flash  started 
and  turned  his  head. 

A  whistle  had  sounded  without  the  cavern.  Very  thin 
and  faint,  but  none  the  less  a  whistle,  rising  and  falling 
twice  in  unmistakable  notes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  ESCAPE 

AS  long  as  they  lived  Dave  and  Bob  never  went 
through  such  a  moment  of  mental  agony  as  that 
immediately  preceding  the  note  of  the  whistle.  It  was 
as  though  some  unseen  power  had  laid  hold  upon  the 
four  actors  in  the  cavern's  drama  and  held  them  motion- 
less. Though  inert  in  body,  the  boys  were  active  in 
mind,  most  torturingly  so.  They  knew  they  were  help- 
less. They  saw  what  the  men  were  about.  What  had 
prompted  such  a  sudden  attack  of  fiendish  cruelty  upon 
them,  neither  lad  could  guess.  It  was  enough  to  feel 
themselves  crushed  beneath  the  bulky  form  of  Dougherty, 
tangled  in  the  folds  of  the  blanket,  their  feet  chained 
fast  together — with  Sandy  Flash  and  his  smoking  bar  of 
iron  bending  over  them. 

Bob  had  been  slower  to  awake  than  Dave;  longer  at 
a  loss  to  know  what  had  happened.  The  weight  of  Mor- 
decai  Dougherty  upon  him  and  the  smothering  fold  of 
the  blanket  pulled  over  his  head  had  goaded  the  boy  to 
fury.  The  stab  of  the  wound  lent  its  spur  to  the  fight. 
It  was  in  the  tearing  and  writhing  of  his  struggle  that 
the  covering  was  ripped  to  one  side  and  he  caught  sight 
of  Dave's  arm  bent  backward  in  the  outlaw's  grip.  For 
the  first  time  the  shocking  horror  of  it  struck  him.  Bob 
braced  himself  for  the  effort  and  tore  one  hand  free. 
Then  with  a  scream  of  rage  and  pain  the  lad  smashed 

157 


i58  SANDY  FLASH 

his  fist  upward,  seeking  Mordecai's  face.  The  man 
dodged  by  ducking,  driving  his  chin  deep  into  the  bullet- 
ripped  shoulder  where  the  boy's  knuckles  could  not  reach 
him.  At  the  same  time  he  caught  the  flailing  arm  and 
pushed  it  above  the  lad's  head. 

Bob,  coming  into  his  full  growth,  was  fit  and  clean 
and  hard  as  nails  from  the  out  of  doors,  nearly  as  strong 
as  the  blackguard  pinning  him  down — had  the  fight  been 
fair.  Drink  and  foul  living  had  long  left  their  mark 
on  Mordecai,  so  that  his  life  told  in  the  scales  against 
him.  But  the  lad  was  wounded.  The  odds  were  too 
high;  the  man  won.  The  quick,  agonizing  push  of  Dough- 
erty's chin  into  the  throbbing  shoulder  was  more  than 
any  one  could  bear  without  a  flinch.  That  slight  shudder 
of  pain  gave  the  brute  on  top  his  chance.  He  was  instant 
to  seize  it.  Bob  set  his  teeth  and  went  rigid  from  neck 
to  heel  as  he  fought  the  pressure  inch  by  inch.  His  breath 
came  in  long  pants  that  broke  from  his  lips  with  sobs. 
Every  muscle  in  the  well-knit  body  stretched  and  quiv- 
ered with  the  strain.  Sweat  stood  out  on  the  boy's 
forehead  in  spite  of  the  cold.  With  his  free  foot  he 
scratched  for  a  purchase  on  the  slippery  stones.  If  only 
he  could  get  his  other  hand  loose  from  the  blanket  wound 
tight  about  him!  Again  the  breath  broke  from  the  boy 
in  a  coughing  sort  of  groan  as  his  chest  relaxed  a  little. 
It  was  piteous.  Bob's  lips  drew  back  from  his  clenched 
teeth,  his  eyes  set  in  the  torture  of  effort,  but  Mordecai 
let  the  whole  weight  of  his  body  push  the  arm  upward. 
Slowly  it  began  to  move.  Muscle  and  nerve  and  sinew 
could  stand  no  more.  The  boy  sobbed  out  another  gasp 
and  went  limp,  his  arm  at  full  length  above  his  head. 


THE  ESCAPE  159 

Dougherty  reached  like  a  flash  with  his  free  hand  to  help 
his  chief,  pinning  Bob's  arm  helpless  with  his  left. 

Then  it  was  that  the  whistle  had  sounded. 

The  next  two  minutes  passed  in  a  confused  nightmare 
for  the  prisoners.  Terror,  hope  of  rescue  and  pain  blinded 
them  to  what  was  taking  place.  All  they  knew  was  that 
Sandy  Flash  had  sprung  upward,  dropping  Dave's  arm. 
Mordecai  grasped  it  by  the  wrist  before  the  wiry  lad 
could  wrench  it  away.  The  man  still  lay  sprawled  upon 
them,  mashing  them  down.  Flash  paused,  then  tossed 
the  iron  bar  upon  the  hearth,  where  it  fast  lost  its  reddish 
glow.  Then  he  disappeared  in  the  narrow  crevice  that 
gave  exit  from  the  cave.  Dave  and  Bob  felt  the  crisis 
passing  for  the  moment  at  least.  Dougherty  seemed  to 
sense  the  change  in  their  tense  bodies.  He  let  go  his 
hold  and  scrambled  to  his  feet.  The  dirk  gleamed  in 
the  candle  light  as  he  drew  it  from  his  stocking,  but  he 
could  have  spared  himself  the  trouble.  The  boys  sat  up, 
crowding  back  against  the  wall.  Neither  spoke.  The 
pounding  of  their  hearts  smothered  them. 

A  shuffling  of  steps  in  the  passageway  and  the  outlaw 
was  back.  A  man  in  a  long  riding  cloak  and  three-cor- 
nered hat  edged  in  after  him.  The  atmosphere  cleared. 
Dougherty  returned  the  knife  to  his  stocking.  Bob  gritted 
his  teeth  and  felt  at  the  wound.  His  hand  came  away 
bloody. 

"The  devil's  to  pay! "  Sandy  Flash  was  white  with  ex- 
citement, his  eyes  glinting  in  the  firelight  like  those  of 
a  man  who  has  been  drinking.  "They've  changed  the 
date.  The  whole  thing's  in  doubt!" 

"To-night,  I  tell  you!"     The  stranger  broke  in  with 


160  SANDY  FLASH 

quick,  sharp  tones.  "There's  scarcely  time  to  get  there. 
You  must  act  at  once!" 

"Ye  means  the  gold?"  Mordecai  Dougherty  turned 
from  the  boys.  "Doan,  he  sez  to-morrer,  as  clear  as — as 
clear  as  ever  can  be.  Not  to-day,  but — " 

"They've  changed  it!  Can't  ye  understand?  I  tell 
ye  they've  gone  an'  changed  it!  Torley  here  has  just 
bin  tellin'  me." 

"Moses  Doan  got  word  this  evening.  Late,  it  was,  too 
late.  He  rushed  me  out  to  Castle  Rock  to  try  to  get 
you  word.  With  the  three  of  us,  he  said  we  might  still 
be  in  time!" 

"Oh,  it's  Dick  Torley,  is  it?  Me  ole  pal  Dandy  Dick!" 
Mordecai  squinted  in  the  uncertain  light.  "I  couldn't 
tell  wot  ye  were,  not  no  ways  fer  lookin'  I  couldn't.  Very 
fine  in  yer  new  cloke!  Ye've  come  in  the  nick,  as  the 
sayin'  is!  We've  just  bin  busy  with  these  here  young 
bloods!  A  kind  of  barbequin'  of  'em,  ye  might  say!" 

Sandy  Flash  had  been  taking  a  bullet  pouch  from  a 
rude  wooden  box  in  the  corner.  At  Dougherty's  garrulous 
mention  of  the  boys,  he  whirled  round  with  an  oath 
that  silenced  the  other.  Dougherty  had  long  since  learned 
to  heed  his  chief.  It  paid  to  do  so. 

"Will  ye  stand  gabblin'  an'  dawdlin'  there  all  night, 
ye — "  The  tone  altered  as  he  faced  Torley.  "When 
do  they  leave  the  town,  Dick?  Any  change  in  the  road? 
Is  there  to  be  a  guard?  If  Doan  had  only  minded  his 
end  of  the  game,  we'd  stand  a  show  out  here.  Lettin' 
a  feller  know  at  this  late  hour,  small  wonder  if  they 
pass  us  by." 

"He  couldn't  help  it,  Captain  Fitz,  not  possibly,  he 


THE  ESCAPE  161 

couldn't.  We  didn't  know  ourselves  till  close  by  seven 
that  they'd  leave  with  the  gold  to-night.  They're  coming 
this  way  for  sure,  straight  to  Head  of  Elk.  The  Goshen 
Road  to  the  Square,  then  west  through  White  Horse. 
There's  one  with  the  money  and  one  as  guard.  They 
feared  too  many  might  give  the  thing  away.  What  are 
you  doing  with  the  boys?  Did  they  learn  of  anything?" 

Sandy  Flash  slung  the  loop  of  the  pouch  over  his 
shoulder  and  reached  for  his  powder  horn.  It  lay  with 
a  pistol  belt  on  a  ledge  of  stone.  Slowly  he  spat  toward 
the  fire. 

"Oh,  the  boys?  No,  they  had  scant  chance!  They'd 
been  prowlin'  an'  pry  in'  round  here  for  two  weeks  gone. 
Settin'  traps.  Spyin',  like  as  not.  Easy  could  have  bin 
anyway.  I'd  take  no  risk  on  'em.  Hurry  up,  Mort,  ye 
slowpoke,  we've  not  a  second  to  lose!  Can't  ye  see  it's 
on  the  Goshen  Road  we  ought  to  be  this  hour  gone! 
I  nabbed  'em  this  afternoon,  Dick,  for  to  keep  'em  out 
of  harm's  way  till  we'd  finished  the  work." 

Flash  kicked  the  rod  of  iron  close  to  the  hearth.  As 
he  did  so,  he  glanced  at  Dougherty,  who  had  started 
slightly  at  the  clang  of  the  metal.  It  was  an  ugly  look 
and  full  of  meaning.  Quite  clearly  the  outlaw  chief  did 
not  see  the  need  of  sharing  his  methods  of  persuasion  with 
all  his  companions  in  crime.  Dougherty  scowled  back 
by  way  of  reply.  The  man  still  resented  Flash's  show 
of  temper  earlier  in  the  day,  when  the  leader  had  raised 
a  cudgel  to  strike  him,  at  the  cedar  thicket.  Mordecai 
fairly  gasped  at  the  knavery  of  it,  as  the  other  went 
coolly  on. 

"They're  quiet  enough  lads  in  all  an'  give  no  manner 


162  SANDY  FLASH 

o'  trouble,  but  Mort,  here,  nigh  blowed  the  shoulder  off 
the  big  buck.  I  saved  him;  but  a  pretty  pickle  it'd  bin 
for  us  to  be  killin'  lads  the  like  of  them.  An'  all  to  no 
purpose.  Mort  always  acts  without  thinkin'  that  way. 
Hot  as  a  pepper!  We'll  let  'em  go  safe  an'  sound,  onct 
we've  turned  the  trick  in  hand  an'  are  ready  to  cut  away 
for  it! "  Flash  smiled  across  the  cave  at  the  look  of  stupe- 
faction on  Dougherty's  face. 

Bob  eyed  the  stranger  deliberately,  while  he  sized  up 
the  man  and  weighed  his  chances.  Then  he  addressed 
him  as  the  newcomer  crossed  the  rude  hearthstone  for  a 
look  at  the  prisoners. 

"That's  a  lie,  a  straight  lie!  I  don't  know  who  you 
are  or  what  you  came  for,  but  it  isn't  true  he's  telling 
you!" 

Mort  whistled  softly  to  himself.  He  feared  Sandy 
Flash  more  than  any  one  else  on  earth  and  his  mind 
was  of  such  a  type  that  he  could  not  grasp  the  thought 
of  another  daring  to  oppose  Lim,  much  less  a  wounded 
boy,  like  Bob,  who  had  just  gotten  a  taste  of  what  he 
might  expect.  Dick  Torley  glanced  from  the  lad's 
strained  face  to  that  of  Sandy  Flash.  Then  he  smiled. 

"The  other  man  did  shoot  me,  that's  truth  enough,  but 
Sandy  Flash  was  trying  his  best  to — "  Bob's  voice  was 
steady. 

"Just  as  you  came  in!"  Dave,  shocked  to  momentary 
silence  by  his  comrade's  bid  for  aid,  saw  the  slim  chance 
of  the  dare  and  grasped  it.  If  the  outlaws  could  only 
be  split  among  themselves,  there  might  still  be  some  hope 
for  them.  The  man  Torley  seemed  of  a  better  sort  than 


THE  ESCAPE  163 

his  two  companions.  "The  poker!  He  had  it  red  hot 
and  tried — " 

"  'Twas  scarin'  'em;  I  was  after,  just  puttin'  a  snatch 
o'  wholesome  fear  to  'em,  that's  all.  I'm  ready,  Dick. 
We  had  a  tussle  just  now  as  ye  came;  the  big  buck  nearly 
worked  loose.  Don't  ye  be  botherin'  with  'em.  Ready, 
Mort?  We'll  rope  'em  up  an'  get  down  to  the  road. 
We've  not  a  second  to  lose!" 

Bob  tried  to  speak,  to  tell  of  the  horror  they  had  so 
narrowly  missed,  but  the  three  men  had  little  time  to 
waste.  His  words  were  choked  off  by  the  very  gag  he 
had  suffered  from  on  the  way  to  the  cave.  Dave,  too, 
was  tied  and  muzzled  at  the  same  time.  Both  boys  saw 
the  folly  of  resistance,  so  gave  in  with  sinking  hearts. 
While  the  men  bound  his  arms  and  rammed  the  gag 
between  his  teeth,  the  younger  lad  fairly  sobbed  with 
mortification.  In  his  frequent  day  dreams  his  imagina- 
tion had  always  gotten  him  free  from  such  predicaments 
with  a  facility  that  was  flattering,  to  say  the  least.  Now, 
face  to  face  with  facts,  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  out 
of  it  at  all.  The  suave  surface  of  Dandy  Dick  Torley 
had  misled  the  lad,  for  the  man  gave  no  heed  whatever 
to  his  rush  of  words,  apart  from  an  amused  laugh.  He 
knew  a  thing  or  two  of  Flash's  reputation.  Dave  lay  on 
a  rumpled  blanket,  limp  and  beaten  outwardly,  yet  in  very 
despair  his  wits  were  keen  and  active.  He  had  sense 
enough  to  listen  to  his  captors  talk,  as  snatches  of  it  came 
to  him. 

"There's  three  of  us  now.  That  means  two  in  one 
place — I'll  take  the  other,"  Sandy  Flash  spoke  in  a  low 


164  SANDY  FLASH 

tone,  but  rapidly.  "The  messenger,  the  feller  with  gold, 
I  mean,  he'll  be  sure  to  stop  at  the  Square.  May  have 
a  change  of  horses  for  him  there,  him  an'  the  guard.  Did 
they  say  anything  about  that  in  the  town?" 

"We  couldn't  find  it  out.  No  time.  But  it's  the  only 
place  they  could  change  between  here  and  the  Turk's 
Head.  He  won't  go  that  way,  either,  beyond  the  Street 
Road,  so  I  reckon  it'll  be  at  Newtown  Square  that  he'll 
get  a  fresh  post  of  horses." 

"Good!  Ye'll  go  there  now,  fast  as  ye  can.  Get  near, 
but  keep  hidden.  Wait  till  they  reach  the  inn,  then  ride 
back  to  the  ford  of  the  Goshen  Road.  Don't  let  'em  see 
ye  whatever  ye  do!  When  ye  get  back  to  the  ford,  Crum 
Creek,  right  below  Echo  Valley,  where  the  Boot  Road 
joins  in,  turn  sharp  to  the  woods  on  the  left.  Ye  can't 
miss  it,  for  Goshen  Road's  straight  as  any  arrow  from  the 
butt  of  Newtown  Hill  down.  I'll  be  there  waitin'. 
Where's  your  horse?  Then,  Mort,  here,  he  can  stay 
with  me.  We  two  will — "  The  words  grew  indistinct. 

The  men  had  done  their  work.  And  well.  The  lads 
lay  rolled  in  a  heap,  half  hidden  in  shadows.  Back  to 
back,  their  arms  were  lashed  first  together,  then  to  one 
another,  with  strips  of  blanket.  Their  left  ankles  were 
fast  in  the  leg  irons.  The  gags  were  securely  knotted 
behind  their  heads.  The  prospect  of  staying  cramped 
in  such  a  position  on  the  cold  floor  of  the  cave  was  not 
a  trifling  matter,  particularly  for  the  older  boy  whose 
wound  had  gone  quite  long  enough  without  adequate 
attention.  Flash  led  the  way,  blowing  out  the  candle. 
The  two  men  followed  him  from  the  cave.  The  prisoners 
were  left  to  themselves,  their  bodies  a  black  smudge 


THE  ESCAPE  165 

amid  the  shadowy  play  of  the  firelight.  The  sound  of 
their  breathing  rose  from  the  floor  in  labored  gasps  as 
they  sucked  air  past  the  gags  that  were  partially  choking 
them. 

How  long  they  lay  there,  the  boys  never  knew.  At 
first,  there  was  considerable  light  from  the  sticks  on  the 
hearth.  Little  by  little,  the  flames  died  down,  as  the  dry 
wood  crumbled  to  a  hot  glow  of  embers  and  the  shadows 
ceased  to  leap  grotesquely  about  the  walls.  Dave  began 
to  shiver  uncontrollably  as  he  breathed.  Bob's  jaws 
set  hard.  This  fight  against  the  cold  could  very  well 
be  the  end  for  both  of  them  and  they  knew  it.  It  was 
the  gameness  of  his  struggle  to  keep  himself  in  hand 
that  helped  the  older  boy  most,  for,  fighting  dumbly,  he 
put  the  whole  force  of  his  body  against  the  chills  that 
crept  over  him  again  and  again.  He  would  not  give  in. 
He  would  hold  himself  rigid  till  the  shaking  passed. 
He  would — 

The  stick  Flash  had  used  for  a  gag  snapped  suddenly 
between  the  convulsive  grinding  of  the  lad's  jaws.  With 
a  cough  of  relief,  he  spat  it  out,  together  with  the  chok- 
ing wad  of  cloth.  A  trickle  of  blood  ran  down  his  chin 
from  the  scratch  where  the  broken  wood  had  torn  the 
side  of  his  mouth.  That  bit  of  freedom  was  the  one 
thing  that  gave  him  courage  for  further  effort.  That, 
and  the  now  constant  shivering  that  passed  through  his 
chum's  body.  Dave  was  a  wiry  boy,  lean,  with  no  sur- 
plus fat  to  ward  off  cold.  The  dim  chill  and  damp  of  the 
cavern  shook  him  distressingly,  biting  into  his  very  mar- 
row. He  knew  his  danger  and  was  beginning  to  let  the 
fear  of  it  get  the  better  of  him. 


166  SANDY  FLASH 

"I  say,  Davey,  all  right?  Can  you  move  at  all?"  Bob 
coughed  blood  from  his  mouth.  His  words  were  the 
first  sign  the  younger  boy  had  of  the  breaking  of  the  gag. 

"If  you  can,  try  and  wiggle  a  bit.  If  only  we  both 
could  edge  over  together,  we'd  get  nearer  the  fire  and 
stop  freezing  to  death  anyway.  Our  feet  are  pretty  free, 
guess  they  forgot  'em  in  their  rush." 

The  very  ability  to  speak,  to  explain,  made  the  rest 
easy — easy,  that  is,  apart  from  the  exquisite  torture  of 
scraping  the  rawness  of  his  wound  over  the  stone  floor, 
as  the  husky  boy  slid  his  body,  inch  by  inch,  toward  the 
saving  heat.  He  waited  each  time  till  Dave  seemed  ready, 
then  together  the  lads  gained  their  hard  fought  fraction 
of  space.  Tied  helpless  as  mummies,  the  four  wrists 
fast  together,  it  took  some  time  to  reach  the  hearth,  but 
the  struggle  served  to  warm  them  almost  as  much  as 
the  dying  charcoal.  Then  Bob  made  his  next  discovery. 

"I  say,  Dave,  if  we  both  turn  our  heads  sideways,  I 
may  be  able  to  get  at  that  gag  of  yours.  Twist  round 
far  as  ever  you  can  and  bend  back  your  neck.  I'll  turn 
and  bite  at  it.  If  we  really  try — don't  mind  how  it  hurts — 
we've  got  to  work  it  now  or  we'll  never  do  it!" 

Gasping  with  the  pain  in  his  shoulder,  Bob  moved  his 
head  as  far  to  the  left  as  it  would  go,  while  Dave  craned 
his  upward  from  the  floor  and  held  it  so  that  the  knotted 
cloth  of  the  gag  came  within  reach  of  his  chum's  teeth. 
Never  had  the  boys  known  the  nerve  torture  of  straining 
muscles  beyond  their  reach  and  attempting  to  hold  them 
there,  but  they  learned  it  now.  Three  times  Bob  caught 
a  loose  bit  of  the  rag  in  his  teeth  and  three  times  he  had 


THE  ESCAPE  167 

to  let  his  head  fall  back.  The  lad's  body  ached  with 
the  effort,  ached  all  over  with  stabs  of  real  and  burning 
agony,  till  he  had  begun  to  pant  as  though  he  had  run 
a  race.  The  wounded  shoulder  was  forgotten  in  the 
greater  pain,  but  he  kept  on.  The  tendons  on  the  right 
side  of  his  neck  and  about  his  shoulder  blades  throbbed 
agonizingly,  literally  scorching  with  pain.  The  fourth 
time  he  got  a  grip  that  held.  Then  came  the  test. 

Back  and  forth  he  worried  the  knot,  an  inch  each  way, 
every  move  gaining  a  little,  every  motion  costing  a  hew 
fight  to  resist  the  desire  to  let  go.  He  wanted  to  drop 
back  and  relax,  his  whole  body  cried  for  it,  every  fiber 
protesting  with  knifelike  cuts.  The  small  of  his  back 
suffered  most,  that,  and  his  cramped  arm  muscles,  as 
the  sensitive  nerve  centers  rebelled  against  the  unusual 
exertion.  Dave's  neck  was  twisted  round  and  upward 
as  painfully,  but  his  lighter  build  made  it  easier  for 
him.  Bob's  teeth  set  like  a  bulldog's  in  a  last  desperate 
grip,  then  he  let  his  head  fall  backward.  He  could 
do  no  more.  His  whole  body  slackened  from  the  strain 
— all  but  his  jaws  and  his  brain.  He  bit  hard  to  that 
wisp  of  rag  and  hung  on.  The  weight  tore  loose  part 
of  the  knot.  Savagely  he  snapped  at  the  remaining  end, 
gasping  and  half  crying.  He  could  not  stand  the  anguish 
in  his  arms  any  longer.  It  was  like  searing  fire.  He 
could  not  raise  his  head  again,  try  as  he  would  to  force 
his  body  to  the  will  of  his  mind — but  he  had  ripped  the 
knotted  gag! 

Dave  did  the  rest.  A  minute  later  he  had  shaken  the 
wad  from  his  mouth.  "That's  something!  Oh,  Bob,  your 


i68  SANDY  FLASH 

arm  must  be  some  done  for!  I  can't  stand  the  cramp 
in  mine  much  more,  but  yours  with  the  wound — I'm 
sorry!" 

Bob  Allyn  lay  silent,  his  eyes  shut,  breathing  hard 
and  short.  The  cold  was  growing  more  intense  and 
neither  lad  could  endure  much  more  of  it,  with  their 
circulation  slowing  up  as  it  was.  There  was  now  no  light 
in  the  cavern  except  the  glow  of  the  ashes  which  scarcely 
served  to  show  them  where  the  fire  had  been.  Bob  had 
done  what  he  could;  the  boy  was  equal  to  no  further 
effort  in  that  chill  till  he  should  have  recovered  from 
the  shock  of  the  wound.  Dave  felt  the  relaxing  of  the 
other's  body  and  recognized  the  danger.  They  were 
hardly  bestead  and  he  knew  it  well  enough. 

"Come  on,  Bob,  let's  try  for  the  cloth  on  our  wrists. 
It's  only  a  bit  of  a  rag.  We've  got  to  do  something  or 
the  cold'll  get  us!  Remember  what  happened  to  that 
man  last  winter  over  in  Uwchlan?" 

"I  certainly  do."  Bob  roused  himself  with  a  mutter. 
"He  rolled  up  in  a  wolf's  pelt,  fur  side  out,  'stead  of  next 
his  body,  poor  fellow,  and  they  found  him  in  the  spring 
frozen  stiff  as  a  board.  Pleasant  thoughts  you're  having, 
Dave,  seeing  we're  like  to  come  by  the  same  end,  our- 
selves. Unless  Flash  comes  back  and  slits  our  throats! 
That  man  had  a  fur  to  start  with,  while  we've  nothing 
at  all.  If  only  this  stone  floor  wasn't  so  cold,  we  might — " 

"Bob,  all  we  need  is  something  to  rub  the  strips  of 
blanket  against,  something  sharp.  Brace  up  for  a  try! 
Let's  feel  for  a  stone.  We'll  do  it  yet!" 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  lads'  arms  were  free.    Their 


THE  ESCAPE  169 

wrists  were  chafed  bloody,  but  the  loosening  of  the  bonds 
had  been  a  good  deal  easier  than  they  had  looked  for. 
The  outlaws  had  left  them  in  the  hurry  of  excitement 
incident  to  reaching  the  road  in  time  to  intercept  the 
courier.  Torley's  sudden  appearance  at  the  cave  and 
the  message  he  had  brought  was  enough  to  upset  even 
Flash's  usual  calm,  for  after  a  fortnight  of  effort  in 
keeping  under  cover,  the  change  in  plans  had  all  but 
ruined  his  chances.  Moses  Doan  had  done  what  he 
could  in  the  town,  but  at  best  Torley  could  not  have 
gained  more  than  an  hour  or  two  over  the  authorities' 
mounted  agent.  Small  wonder  that  the  boys  had  been 
gagged  without  mercy  and  tied  without  proper  care. 

Dave's  first  move  was  to  throw  a  pile  of  sticks  on  the 
fire.  He  could  stand  upright  and  reach  about  without 
making  Bob  stir  at  all,  as  the  leg  iron  had  a  bit  of 
leeway  in  its  half  foot  of  rusty  links.  Then  the  smaller 
boy  turned  his  attention  to  the  wounded  shoulder.  The 
bandage  he  had  put  on  earlier  in  the  evening  had  been 
rubbed  to  one  side  in  the  scuffle  and  as  Bob  had  edged 
his  body,  crablike,  along  the  uneven  floor.  It  was  not 
much  of  a  task,  however,  to  rip  a  piece  from  his  shirt 
and  tie  the  arm  up  again. 

Then  the  boys  set  about  the  problem  of  freeing  their 
feet  from  the  shackles.  They  knew  their  time  was  short. 
The  men  might  be  back  at  any  moment,  one  of  them 
at  all  events.  Besides,  what  with  the  heat  of  the  new 
fire  to  drive  the  chill  from  their  bodies  and  the  torturing 
cramp  gone  from  their  arms,  their  spirits  had  picked 
up  amazingly.  Dave  was  excited  as  though  he  had  found 


170  SANDY  FLASH 

a  new  trail  in  the  woodland.  Bob  was  more  quiet,  as 
his  blood  began  to  warm  him,  but  the  set  of  his  jaws 
boded  small  good  for  the  men  who  had  hurt  him  when 
he  was  down.  The  Scotch  training  in  the  lad,  stern  and 
straight,  cried  out  rebelliously  for  fair  play.  Particularly, 
he  wanted  to  match  his  strength  against  Dougherty's,  the 
scoundrel  who  had  kicked  him  in  the  side  as  he  lay  on 
the  snow.  New  courage  came  to  the  lad,  as  he  saw  their 
chances  of  freedom  growing  with  every  moment  safely 
passed. 

"If  only  we  can  smash  this  rotten  thing  off."  Dave 
shook  his  foot  angrily  till  the  chain  rattled.  "We  still 
might  do  some  good.  They  didn't  know  when  the  men 
with  the  money  were  to  get  to  the  Square  at  Newtown. 
I'm  all  mixed  up,  myself,  about  it." 

"We've  got  to  get  away  from  here,  that's  sure,  before 
they  come  back.  If  we  don't,  they'll  kill  the  pair  of 
us.  I  say,  Dave,  do  you  know  we  might  be  able  to  reach 
the  inn  up  there,  for  a  fact!  I  reckon  it's  a  tax  collector 
they're  lying  in  wait  for.  That's  what  Sandy  Flash  does 
mostly.  But  that  fellow  from  the  town  looks  as  if  it 
was  something  pretty  big.  Get  that  stone  by  the  fire, 
Dave,  and  try  to  smash  the  chain.  Lam  it  hard!  Lop 
it  off!  If  we  could  break  it,  it'd  be  most  as  good  as 
getting  the  whole  irons  away!" 

The  stone  did  the  trick.  At  the  third  crushing  blow, 
the  rust-bitten  links  flattened  and  one  cracked  partially 
open.  A  twist  of  the  poker  by  way  of  a  lever  severed 
the  metal  entirely. 

"That's  the  stuff!  We've  got  to  leave  the  band  on  our 
ankles,  I  reckon  for  a  while,  anyway." 


THE  ESCAPE  171 

"Tie  the  end  of  the  chain  against  our  legs  with  a 
strip  of  blanket  and  it  won't  bother  us  so  much.  It's 
the  best  we  can  do  now  at  any  rate.  Let's  hurry!" 

The  boys  worked  with  feverish  haste,  binding  the  odd 
links  above  the  metal  bands,  making  the  whole  thing 
as  snug  as  they  could.  An  hour  after  the  men  had  left 
them,  trussed  back  to  back  and  helpless,  they  were  free 
and  able  to  move  as  fast  as  they  wanted  despite  the 
weight  of  the  broken  irons  on  their  left  legs.  In  the 
dark  they  could  go  no  quicker  than  a  walk  anyway. 
Leaving  the  fire  as  it  was,  they  squeezed  into  the  crevice 
and  pushed  their  way  to  the  natural  platform  of  rock 
beneath  the  thorn  screen.  Their  flintlocks  and  ammuni- 
tion they  could  not  find,  although  they  wasted  scant  time 
in  search.  Chiefly  they  wanted  to  get  clear  of  the  rocks 
undetected. 

From  the  ledge  onward,  it  was  hard  to  feel  their  course 
in  the  gloom,  but  the  fog  had  lifted  considerably  with 
the  chill  of  night  and  the  star  gleam  of  the  winter  con- 
stellations helped  them.  Once  in  the  oaks  that  ringed 
the  massive  pile  of  the  Castle,  the  boys  paused  to  hold 
a  consultation  and  to  get  their  bearings  aright.  It  would 
not  do  to  rush  blindly  toward  the  Square  for  all  they 
knew  straight  into  the  arms  of  Sandy  Flash  once  more. 
On  the  other  hand,  they  realized  they  would  have  to  act 
immediately,  as  it  was  already  after  eleven  at  night  and 
the  rider  from  town  must  be  nearing  the  crossroad  inn, 
if  indeed,  he  had  not  already  passed  it. 

"Let's  keep  together  this  time.  We  can  put  up  a  better 
fight  that  way  than  by  ourselves.  If  that  man  ever  tries 
again  to  touch  us  with — " 


172  SANDY  FLASH 

"What'll  we  fight  'em  with?"  Bob's  voice  was  a  low 
whisper.  "I  might  have  fetched  that  poker  he  had,  but 
now  we've  not  a  thing.  Bare  hands  or  nothing,  I  guess 
it's  got  to  be." 

"I  only  wish  we  could  have  found  our  guns,"  Dave 
broke  in,  "but  they've  hidden  'em  somewheres  or  taken 
'em  with  'em.  I've  got  this,  though."  The  boy  held 
out  his  hand.  A  long  knife  sheated  in  leather  showed 
up  dimly.  "It's  like  the  one  Dougherty  had  in  his  stock- 
ing. I  found  it  in  the  cave  back  there.  We  can  use  it!'1 

"That's  the  stuff!  Let's  get  our  direction  and  hurry." 
Bob  looked  at  the  sky.  "The  Dipper's  right  over  yonder, 
let  me  see,  there's  the  North  Star.  See  it,  Dave?  Get 
it  by  the  Pointers,  right  over  by  that  branch?  We've  got 
to  work  along  almost  due  east  for  the  Square.  It's  quite 
a  ways,  too!" 

"Not  by  the  roads  though,  we  can't  go.  They're  on 
'em.  I  reckon  they're  right  below  us  somewheres  now, 
Sandy  Flash  and  Dougherty,  between  here  and  the  Goshen 
ford.  He  said  they'd  split,  you  know." 

"Yes,  and  we've  got  to  cross  the  creek  below  the  Stras- 
burg  ford  to  miss  'em.  It'll  be  full  of  ice,  but  there's  no 
other  way  because  they'll  likely  watch  both  roads  west. 
I  say,  let's  hurry!" 

As  quietly  as  they  could,  Dave  and  Bob  hurried  over 
the  frozen  ground,  trying  to  work  toward  Newtown 
Square,  yet  at  the  same  time  keeping  the  forest-shadowed 
slope  of  Castle  Rock  between  them  and  the  place  they 
knew  the  outlaws  must  be.  The  waters  of  Crum  proved 
their  greatest  obstacle,  as  they  could  find  no  convenient 
stones  to  cross  on.  The  boys,  well  hidden  in  the  tangle 


THE  ESCAPE  173 

of  trees,  paused  and  looked  despairingly  at  the  brook 
slipping  past  them.  Like  deep-piled  velvet  lay  the 
shadows  on  the  water,  blue-black,  impenetrable,  unbroken, 
near  the  bank,  etching  the  outline  of  the  forest  oaks, 
further  out,  where  the  star  gleam  turned  the  mirrored 
surface  to  a  sheen  of  faintly  burnished  steel.  Silent  and 
deep  and  biting  cold,  it  ran,  with  only  a  fringing  shelf 
of  ice.  To  wade  meant  a  midnight  soaking  to  the  waist. 
Irresolutely,  they  checked  a  moment,  yet  mindful  of  the 
cost  of  delay. 

"What's  it  to  be?"  Dave  glanced  at  the  water. 
"Think  you  can  stand  it,  Bob?" 

"Got  to.  Looks  awfully  cold,  doesn't  it?"  The  big 
lad  shivered  in  spite  of  himself.  Then  his  mind  turned 
back  to  Dougherty  and  how  the  man  had  kicked  him 
so  brutally  and  so  needlessly  when  he  was  down.  The 
boy's  lips  set  thin  and  hard.  "I  guess  it'll  kill  the  pair 
of  us  with  chill,  but  it's  the  best  we  can  do,  Dave.  They're 
at  the  ford  and  the  man  is  riding  toward  'em.  I've  been 
letting  you  do  everything  to-night,  but  it's  time  we  stopped 
being  babies!" 

"I'll  try  it,  if  you  will!  It's  kinder  more  shallower 
there  at  the  bend.  Hear  it  purring?"  Dave  glanced  at 
his  friend,  relieved  to  note  the  return  of  energy  as  the 
wound  shock  wore  off  under  the  spur  of  excitement.  To 
tell  the  truth,  he  had  been  worried  all  evening  by  Bob's 
most  unusual  lack  of  initiative.  Dave  had  failed  to  ap- 
preciate what  the  other  had  suffered  from  the  low  velocity 
slug  of  Dougherty's  pistol. 

"We've  got  to  get  in,  so  the  sooner,  the  better.  Come 
along!"  Bob  chose  the  most  likely  spot  and  stepped 


174  SANDY  FLASH 

down.  He  was  really  beginning  to  feel  like  himself  again 
for  the  first  time  since  afternoon. 

By  luck  the  brook  broadened  here  and  lost  proportion- 
ately in  depth.  The  boys  climbed  out  on  the  slippery 
eastern  bank,  well  soaked  to  the  thighs,  yet  dry  in  body. 
Their  teeth  chattered  uncontrollably,  none  the  less,  as 
they  hastened  along.  Dave  shivered,  breathing  short  and 
hard,  as  he  took  up  a  jog  in  hopes  of  getting  warmer, 
but  the  chain  about  his  ankle  worked  loose  from  the 
cloth  and  he  lost  a  precious  minute  in  making  it  fast 
again.  After  that,  he  contented  himself  with  a  brisk 
walk.  The  remembrance  of  Sandy  Flash's  face  as  the 
blackguard  had  strained  back  his  arm  and  held  the  hot 
iron  over  the  bared  flesh  was  enough  to  lend  courage 
to  the  boy.  He  thought  about  it  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"Bob,  what  do  you  suppose  they  were  trying  to  burn 
us  with  that  iron  for?  We'd  not  moved  nor  done  a  thing. 
Sound  asleep,  too.  It  seems  queer  to  me." 

"I've  tried  to  make  that  out  myself,  Dave.  All  I  can 
think  of  is  that  they're  either  raving  mad  or  maybe  did 
it  to  scare  us.  That,  most  likely.  To  make  us  tell  'em 
something  they  wanted  to  know.  They  sure  did  scare  me! 
When  I  woke  up  with  that  Mordecai  fellow  on  top  and 
saw  Sandy  Flash  most  breaking  your  arm  and  that  poker 
of  his — wheel  I'll  never  forget  the  look  he  had  on  his 
face.  I  say!  Like  some  animal's more'n  a  man's!  Lucky 
for  us  that  other  one  came  along  when  he  did!" 

"It  certainly  was!  Let's  hurry  it  up,  Bob.  Think 
we'll  be  in  time?  This  darned  old  chain  is  going  to  be 
loose  again  in  a  minute!  Hang  it  all!" 

Climbing  the  slope  of  Newtown  Hill  was  no  easy  matter 


THE  ESCAPE  175 

what  with  the  snow  and  the  wet  clothes  and  the  handicap 
of  the  leg  irons  holding  them  back.  Suddenly  Bob 
laughed  to  himself. 

"Reckon  I'm  going  crazy,  Dave,  but  what  do  you  think 
I've  been  scheming  over  ever  since  we  crossed  the  creek 
back  there?  I've  been  thinking  of  how  to  get  that  old 
otter  we  missed  the  other  day." 

"Otter!"  Dave  looked  toward  his  chum  in  bewilder- 
ment. That  was  the  last  thing  he  had  been  thinking 
about.  "Are  you  crazy?  What  put  otter  in  your  head 
to-night?" 

"Yes,  the  otter,  the  big  one  up  in  Ridley,  you  know- 
Silly,  I  reckon,  but  it's  been  on  my  mind  as  much  as 
Sandy  Flash.  Because  I  know  now  how  to  get  it.  A 
sure  thing!" 

"Won't  hold  us  back  any  to  tell  me,  I  guess.  Must 
admit  I've  not  been  thinking  much  of  traps  to-night. 
The  otter!  Of  all  things!  How'll  you  go  get  him,  Bob? 
Salt  on  his  tail  or  magic  pass  and  magic  word?"  Dave 
laughed  a  little  hysterically.  The  strain  of  the  last  few 
hours  was  beginning  to  tell  on  the  high-strung  boy,  as 
well  it  might.  Bob,  for  all  his  hurt,  was  the  more  com- 
posed, his  stolid  nature  standing  him  in  good  stead.  One 
would  hardly  have  taken  him  for  the  shocked  and 
wounded  lad  of  the  earlier  evening. 

"No,  I'm  not  joking  either,  Dave.  Really  mean  it. 
It'll  work,  too.  Just  you  wait  and  see  if  it  doesn't. 
Remember  where — " 

"Look,  Bob,  we're  almost  there!"  Dave's  strained  whis- 
per broke  in.  "Vender's  the  crossroad  at  Newtown 
Square!  We're  in  time!"  He  vaulted  the  wayside  fence,, 


176  SANDY  FLASH 

forgetful  of  his  chain,  and  dropped  to  the  ditch  below. 
The  boys  had  been  cutting  cross-country  and  come  into 
the  Goshen  Road  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  west  of  the 
Pratt  House  Tavern.  It  lay  round  a  bend  on  the  hill, 
a  little  to  their  right. 

"Can  you  run,  Dave?  We'd  better — "<  Bob  pointed 
and  cried  out. 

The  lad  never  finished  his  sentence. 

Things  had  begun  to  happen  along  the  narrow  stretch 
of  road  that  rose  sharply  before  them.  The  midnight  calm 
cracked  with  such  amazing  suddenness  that  they  paused, 
too  taken  aback  for  an  instant  to  move. 

A  shot,  an  outcry  and  the  sound  of  shouting  recalled 
their  mission  and  sent  them  running  up  the  rising  ground 
as  hard  as  they  could  go.  Just  as  they  topped  it  and 
caught  sight  of  the  white-walled  hostelry,  another  shot 
echoed  across  the  snowy  pastures. 

"It's  the  fellow  from  town  and  the  man  Flash  sent' 
here!"  Dave  pointed,  as  he  ran  on,  breathing  hard — 
hoping  against  hope  that  the  chain  might  not  break  loose 
again  from  his  leg  and  trip  him.  "They  must  have 
gotten—" 

"They're  fighting  at  the  inn!  We're  in  time!  They're 
here!  Oh,  I  say — "  Bob  Allyn  hugged  his  wounded  arm 
close.  "Lookout!  We're  in  for  it  now,  Davey!  They're 
beginning  to  shoot!" 

Out  of  the  turmoil  before  them  came  the  rush  and 
throb  of  pounding  hoofs.  A  flintlock  flared  brightly 
against  the  dark  and  the  boys  ducked  instinctively  as 
the  slug  whined  overhead,  thudding  savagely  into  an  oak 


THE  ESCAPE  177 

behind  them.  Bob  grabbed  his  comrade's  arm,  pulling 
him  to  one  side  of  the  road. 

"They're  trying  for  Flash's  man  on  the  horse!  He's 
running  away.  We'll  be  hit  here  next  thing  I  Get  low.! 
Duck  for  it,  Dave!" 

Each  knew  enough  of  firearms  to  treat  them  with  re- 
spect. An  instant  later,  they  were  deep  in  the  shelter 
of  the  ditch,  but  still  stumbling  along  as  fast  as  they 
could  toward  the  inn.  The  horse  thundered  past  them 
in  a  scud  of  flying  snow,  the  rider  low  bent  on  the  animal's 
neck,  spurring  madly,  hat  off,  greatcoat  streaming  behind. 
The  lads  swung  round,  as  he  dashed  by,  shielding  their 
faces  from  the  frozen  lumps  that  hurtled  back  at  every 
drive  of  hoofs.  The  sound  of  galloping  died  quickly,  as 
the  man  turned  the  bend  and  sank  from  sight  beyond  the 
hill  toward  Brook's  Wood.  Bob  and  Dave  still  stood 
in  the  ditch,  looking  after  him. 

"That  wasn't — it  must  have  been — "  Bob  rubbed  the 
pelted  snow  from  his  face.  "It  wasn't  their  fellow  at  all! 
Not  Torley!  I  say,  Dave,  it's  the  man  with  the  gold 
and  he's  heading — " 

Dave  clutched  the  other's  arm  convulsively,  as  he  fin- 
ished his  companion's  sentence. 

"Straight  for  Flash  at  Crum  Creek  ford!  They  must 
have  hit  the  guard ! " 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT 

WHEN  Sandy  Flash  with  his  two  accomplices  slipped 
from  the  cavern  at  Castle  Rock,  leaving  the  boys 
cramped  and  shivering  upon  the  floor,  the  leader  of  the 
outlaws  had  already  thought  out  his  plan  for  trapping 
the  couriers  and  making  off  with  the  gold.  He  knew  the 
authorities  were  moving  it  under  cover  of  night,  depending 
more  upon  the  secrecy  than  upon  a  larger  force  to  guard 
it.  The  very  fact  that  Moses  Doan  had  got  wind  of 
their  change  in  date  showed  they  were  suspicious,  wary. 
That  meant  they  would  do  all  to  push  the  thing  with 
despatch,  rushing  their  men  post  haste  toward  Head  of 
Elk,  speeded  by  a  change  of  mounts  as  often  as  could 
be  arranged  for  in  advance.  All  this  Doan  had  learned 
and  passed  on  to  Flash  through  Dougherty  and  Dick 
Torley.  It  was  upon  his  knowledge  of  the  route  they 
were  to  follow  that  the  outlaw  based  the  ambuscade. 
With  three  on  his  side  working  together,  supported  by 
darkness  and  surprise,  he  had  small  doubt  of  the  outcome. 
On  reaching  the  Strasburg  Road  below  Castle  Rock, 
Sandy  Flash  sent  Torley  to  fetch  his  horse  from  the 
bushes  a  short  distance  away.  He  and  Mordecai  re- 
mained on  foot  near  the  ford.  Flash  was  no  longer  un- 
easy about  the  altered  plans,  although  he  had  counted 
mightily  on  this  particular  hold-up  ever  since  Doan  first 

178 


bJD 


a 

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c 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  179 

heard  of  the  gold  shipment  and  determined  to  get  it  with 
his  aid.  Torley  rejoined  them  a  moment  later,  rolling 
up  the  tether  strap  that  had  fastened  his  horse.  The  three 
men  drew  under  the  shadows  and  talked  in  low  voices. 
Sandy  Flash  repeated  his  instructions  to  Torley,  stressing 
the  place  where  he  was  to  rejoin  them  after  seeing  the 
courier  arrive  at  the  inn.  The  brook  ford  and  the  pitch 
of  the  banks  on  the  Goshen  Road  would  make  a  place 
ideally  staged  for  their  purpose.  The  highwayman  had 
long  since  learned  the  elementary  requirements  for  success 
at  his  dangerous  game.  He  had  not  the  least  idea  of 
courting  trouble. 

"All  clear?  By  the  Boot  Road  fork  near  Echo  Valley! 
Good  ye  know  the  country,  Dick.  Then  best  o'  luck  an' 
be  off!"  Sandy  Flash  nodded  up  the  road. 

"There's  just  one  thing,  Captain  Fitz,"  Torley  hesi- 
tated, then  spoke  on  rapidly,  "I've  thought  of.  If  this 
fellow's  on  guard,  as  he  ought  to  be,  he'll  maybe  notice 
the  tracks  in  the  snow  and  see  'em  for  fresh.  Not  one 
chance  in  a  thousand,  but  how  about  this?  Suppose  I 
get  me  now  to  the  tavern,  watch  for  'em  to  come,  then 
just  as  they're  changing  horses,  take  a  shot  at  the  pair? 
If  I  can  wing  the  guard,  so  much  the  better.  But  the 
main  thing  is  that  the  fellow  with  the  money'll  think  the 
game  is  up  and  he'll  ride  for  his  life.  Whether  they're 
one  or  two,  they'll  pull  slow  for  the  ford  by  Echo  Valley 
— they've  got  to.  Then  when  they  hear  no  chasing,  they'll 
think  they're  clean  away.  That'll  make  it  all  the  easier 
for  you  and  Mort  Dougherty.  And  I  might  get  a  chance 
to  knock  the  guard  over,  at  that.  It  won't  take — " 

"Can  ye  be  sure  of  it?    The  folks  at  the  inn'll  be  warned 


i8o  SANDY  FLASH 

before  this,  small  doubt,  to  have  the  fresh  post  ready  and 
saddled.  They'll  be  up  an'  about.  If  ye  shoot,  they'll 
jump  in  to  help  'em  quick  as  a  weasel.  That'd  ruin  every- 
thing. I  think  ye'd  best — " 

"I  can  take  my  time  near  the  inn  and  see  which  carries 
the  coin.  It's  a  rare  fat  sum  and  weighs  it,  every  ounce! 
Never  fear!  I'll  know  soon  enough  who's  got  it.  If  you 
see  one  coming  down  the  road,  he'll  be  your  man.  Under- 
stand? If  there's  two,  why,  you'll  know  I've  missed  the 
shot.  Then  you  and  Mort'll  have  to  handle  the  pair. 
Shall  I  try  it?  The  scare  of  it'll  help  you  mightily." 

Sandy  Flash  saw  the  cleverness  of  the  trick.  If  it  only 
succeeded  in  stampeding  or  separating  the  riders  and  mak- 
ing them  think  that  the  danger  had  passed,  it  would  be 
well  worth  while.  No  one  knew  better  than  the  outlaw  of 
the  Brandywine  that  a  man  is  seldom  so  unprepared  as 
when  he  relaxes  from  a  strain.  Dick  Torley  had  hit  upon 
the  one  thing  most  likely  to  bring  this  about  with  the  least 
danger  to  them  all.  Flash  was  clever  enough  to  avail  him- 
self of  anything  his  followers  had  to  offer  provided  it 
seemed  reasonably  sure  of  success.  He  changed  his  own 
arrangements  promptly. 

As  Torley  cantered  off,  bent  on  nearing  the  Square  from 
the  south,  Flash  and  Dougherty  hurried  into  the  woodland 
beyond  the  Strasburg  Road.  Following  Crum  Creek 
through  the  ravine  where  they  had  captured  the  boys  that 
afternoon,  the  men  soon  came  to  the  Goshen  ford.  Flash 
looked  about  him  with  more  than  his  usual  care,  studying 
the  lay  of  the  roadside  shadows  and  the  shelter  of  the  tree 
trunks. 

"The  fittest  place  in  the  Three  Counties,  me  hearty! 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  181 

The  ford'll  make  'em  slow  to  a  walk,  howsoever  fast  they 
come  from  the  Square.  The  down  slope,  ye  know." 

Mordecai  glanced  round  him.  Somehow  or  other,  he 
could  not  feel  the  enthusiasm  of  his  chief. 

"Looks  all  right  to  me,  Cap'n,  but  wot  I  sez  is  supposin' 
they  don't  come  this  here  way  at  all?  Supposin'  they 
goes  off  some'eres  else.  Wot  then?" 

"Oh,  it's  here  they'll  come,  all  right,  never  ye  fear. 
Doan  was  sure  of  it.  He  told  you  clear  enough,  didn't  he! " 

"So  he  sez  to  me  larst  time  I  saw  him.  But  wot's  to 
pay  if  they  don't?  That's  wot  I  asks,  Cap'n,  wot's  to  pay 
if  they  up  an'  changes?  It's — " 

"Ye're  devilish  low  to-night,  Mort,  with  all  your  ifs! 
What's  ailin'  ye?  Ye  know  right  well  he  said  they'd  fol- 
low the  Haverford  Road  from  town  to  the — " 

"That  he  did.  He  told  me  clearly.  From  the  town  to 
Couperstown,  then  over  the  crick  an'  on  up  to  the  New- 
town  crossing!" 

"Straight  to  the  Square  by  the  Goshen  Road.  Ye  told 
me  so  yourself,  when  ye  came.  Your  very  words.  From 
the  Square  on  west.  It's  plain  as  a  Quaker's  bonnet! " 

"True,  I  did  an'  that's  Doan's  own  words.  None  other. 
Luck'll  play  fer  us — or  agin'  us.  It's  all  luck,  so  wot's 
the  use  o'  fightin'  it?  The  place  is  fit  enough  to  trap  the 
devil  himself  in,  that  it  is!" 

"There's  no  better  betwixt  us  an'  the  Brandywines. 
Ye  told  the  truth  there.  Sure  an'  the  black  murk  o'  fear 
is  on  ye  this  night,  whatever's  the  cause.  Cheer  up,  me 
buck,  an'  ye'll  see  the  neatest  game  ye've  ever  set  an  eye 
to!  I  only  wish  the  ford  was  not  so  near  the  cave,  though. 
Means  we'll  have  to  clear  out  o'  here  the  minute  we  get 


182  SANDY  FLASH 

the  stuff.  A  good  thing  we  got  holt  o'  the  boys  when  we 
did.  We  can  leave  'em  tied  there  an'  ride  for  the  Valley 
hills,  hell  for  leather,  or  maybe  Newlin.  Soon  as  ever 
they  raise  the  hue  an'  cry,  some  farmer'll  find  'em  like  as 
not  and  turn  'em  loose  again." 

"Frozen  stiff  as  pine  cones,  they'll  be,  'fore  mornin',  I'm 
thinkin',  if  we  lets  'em  stay  up  there,  wot  with  no  fire  an' 
the  winter  night  bio  win'  over  'em  that  a-way.  It's  a  damp 
hole  enough  an'  they're  but  yearlings  after  all.  'Course 
we  saves  ourselves,  that's  first,  but  it  wouldn't  take  much 
time  fer  to  slip  by  an'  cut  the  hobbles  off  'em." 

"I  thought  ye  wanted  to  slit  the  throats  on  the  pair  of 
'em,  like  a  couple  o'  shotes,  a  bit  ago?  Cut  'em  off,  head 
an'  tail,  branch  an'  rush,  as  the  parson  used  to  say?  Ye're 
changin'  like  a  weather  cock,  me  buck,  to-night!"  Sandy 
Flash  grinned  to  himself.  He  saw  that  his  brutality  had 
stirred  up  such  sympathy  toward  the  boys  as  his  accom- 
plice was  capable  of.  The  man  took  it  as  a  compliment. 
"If  ye're  so  tender-hearted,  better  have  stayed  in  the 
town  with  Doan.  It's  easier  to  play  the  spy  there  than 
the  man  out  here.  A  deal  easier!" 

"I  only  was  a-sayin' — "  Mordecai  was  apologetic  once 
more,  as  he  felt  that  his  chief  had  detected  the  passing 
weakness.  In  truth,  his  attitude  had  changed  since  the 
afternoon.  Then,  he  felt  the  boys  a  menace;  he  had 
really  tried  to  kill  the  big  one  with  his  pistol.  Now,  as 
prisoners,  he  no  longer  feared  them.  After  all,  what  were 
they  but  lads. 

"Mort,  ye've  lots  to  learn.  A  whole  lot!"  Flash  spoke 
with  emphasis.  "To-night,  for  one  thing.  Ye'll  be  tellin' 
Moses  Doan  a  rare  tale  enough  o'  the  way  I  was  torturin* 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  183 

the  lads.  Small  doubt  of  it,  the  minute  ye  meet  him. 
Well,  go  ahead  an'  tell  him  what  ye  like,  but  remember 
this.  Not  once  did  I  touch  the  boy  with  the  iron.  Not 
once  did  I  maul  'em  like  ye  did  the  big  one  when  he  was 
hurt.  Comin'  to  that,  I  didn't  shoot  'em,  either,  nor  yet 
try  to  kill  'em.  You  did.  See  the  difference.  Mort,  me 
boy,  if  ye'd  brains,  ye  might  mark  reason  in  all  this,  but 
ye've  none,  so  one  minute  it's  brutal  cruel  ye  be  an'  the 
next  ye're  repentin'  an'  weak.  An'  all  the  time,  ye're  get- 
tin'  nothin'  done.  But  me — I  only  scared  'em  once,  scared 
'em  real,  while  I  was  at  it,  an'  was  fair  to  gettin'  all  I 
wanted  of  'em,  an'  they  not  a  whit  the  worse.  Come,  get 
yonder  to  the  shadow  an'  mind  your  eyes.  I'll  take  this 
side." 

Dougherty  crossed  the  road,  shaking  his  head  in  the 
darkness.  It  all  sounded  plausible  enough,  but  then  he 
had  seen  Flash's  face  as  he  had  strained  back  Dave's  arm 
earlier  in  the  evening.  He  did  not  need  any  explanation 
as  to  that.  Dougherty  felt  again  that  strange  surge  of  re- 
pulsion for  the  other's  bestial  cruelty.  He  had  followed 
Flash  in  many  a  blackguardly  undertaking  before,  but 
it  had  always  been  man  against  man — not  shackled, 
wounded  boys  as  opponents.  What  saving  good  was 
latent  in  the  fellow  revolted  at  the  thought. 

Quietly  the  men  took  their  places,  one  on  either  side 
of  the  way,  both  well  hidden  by  the  trees.  Echo  Valley, 
dreamy  and  faint  with  haze,  lay  before  them,  its  snow 
mist-gray  and  silver  beneath  the  stars,  its  peaceful  pas- 
tures rolling  upward  to  the  black  rim  of  Brook's  Wood 
and  the  Newtown  Hill.  Between  dark  fencerows  ran  the 
Goshen  Road,  straight  as  any  street  from  ford  to  forest. 


184  SANDY  FLASH 

Midnight  passed.  Meanwhile,  Torley,  the  third  of 
Flash's  band,  had  been  riding  hard.  Before  Dave  and 
Bob  had  had  time  to  free  themselves  and  escape  from  the 
cave,  he  had  reached  the  neighborhood  of  the  Pratt  House 
Tavern  and  concealed  himself  behind  a  fallen  chestnut 
tree  near  the  north-east  angle  of  the  road.  The  man  had 
previously  tied  his  horse  in  a  clump  of  bushes  two  hundred 
yards  away.  For  almost  an  hour  he  waited,  hugged  tight 
in  his  cloak,  as  the  wind  cut  sharply  across  the  level  up- 
land from  the  Radnor  Hills  to  the  east.  It  was  raw  and 
damp  with  thaw,  but  chilling  to  the  bone. 

Nearly  one  hundred  years  before,  William  Penn,  the 
great  Proprietory,  as  they  called  him,  had  stood  on  the 
same  spot  and,  noting  the  spacious  plain,  prophesied  that 
here  would  spring  up  the  first  inland  town  west  of  his 
little  City  of  Brotherly  Love.  He  had  called  the  place 
Newtown  Square  against  the  time  the  village  should  come 
into  being.  To-day,  well  over  two  centuries  since  that 
prophecy,  all  that  stands  at  the  crossroad  is  the  ancient 
building  that  housed  the  Pratt  House  inn — the  only  sign 
of  the  town  that  never  was. 

It  must  have  been  well  after  midnight  when  a  distant 
pounding  caught  Torley's  ear.  He  shivered,  then  peered 
over  the  log.  The  throbbing  hoof  beats  carried  far  in  the 
still,  moist  air,  but  he  could  see  nothing.  He  waited,  listen- 
ing eagerly.  There  could  be  no  mistake.  Up  the  Goshen 
Road,  the  double  rhythm  told  of  galloping  strides,  muffled 
and  dulled  to  a  thud  in  the  snow,  but  unmistakably  horses 
— horses  coming  at  speed  from  the  dark.  Torley  sank  to 
his  knees  behind  the  fallen  tree  and  primed  the  pan  of  his 
flintlock  pistol.  At  the  same  moment  a  shaft  of  light 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  185 

stabbed  out  upon  the  whitened  road  before  the  inn  as  the 
door  opened.  Some  one  came  into  the  yard  carrying  a 
lantern.  Clearly  the  change  of  horses  had  been  well 
timed. 

While  the  light  bobbed  toward  the  stables,  Torley 
looked  again  over  the  trunk  of  his  sheltering  tree,  then 
ducked  quickly.  Two  horsemen  were  in  view  now,  thun- 
dering down  the  road.  They  were  not  sparing  of  their 
mounts,  either,  a  hint  that  they  counted  on  a  fresh  relay 
at  the  inn.  The  outlaw  had  chosen  his  place  well,  for  it 
commanded  the  crossways,  the  Pratt  House  and  the  roads 
that  led  away  from  it,  north,  south,  east  and  west. 

Torley  could  see  surprisingly  well  in  the  star  light,  as 
the  riders  drew  near.  One  galloped  in  advance,  perhaps 
ten  yards,  while  the  other  kept  hugging  the  side  of  the 
way,  evidently  doing  what  he  could  to  dodge  the  lumps  of 
snow  tossed  back  by  the  leader's  driving  hoofs.  Both  men 
were  armed,  the  first  horseman  with  pistols,  the  second 
with  a  short  blunderbuss  strapped  over  his  shoulder.  He, 
too,  carried  heavy  holsters  at  his  pummel,  marking  him  as 
the  guard.  Cloaks  muffled  them  against  the  cold  of  mid- 
night. 

It  was  not  for  that,  however,  that  Torley  searched,  as 
he  sought  to  keep  under  cover  and  see  as  much  as  he  could 
at  the  same  time.  Ah,  there  he  had  it!  The  men  were 
abreast  of  him  now,  easing  their  horses  at  sight  of  the  inn 
and  the  moving  light  by  the  stables.  Close  tied  to  the 
cantle  of  the  leader's  saddle  was  the  outline  of  a  bulky 
roll — the  sort  of  leather  bag  used  by  post  boys  on  the 
road.  That  was  the  gold!  Torley  smiled  at  the  ease  of 
his  trick.  Then  he  cocked  his  pistol. 


1 86  SANDY  FLASH 

The  riders  jogged  past  within  twenty  yards  of  the  man's 
position.  Torley  could  hear  the  faint  complainings  of 
their  saddles,  as  the  leather  stretched  and  gave  to  the  play 
of  the  horses'  gait.  He  could  catch  the  sharper  tinkle  of 
curb  chains  on  the  cheeks  and  the  occasional  click  of  a 
spur  buckle  next  a  stirrup.  All  the  little  indescribable 
sounds  of  horsemen  and  their  gear.  He  saw  the  breath 
rings  blowing  wide  from  the  animals'  nostrils,  as  they 
reached  at  their  reins  and  pricked  ears  for  the  warm  stalls 
beyond.  So  near  was  he  that  he  could  have  shot  either 
of  them  with  scarcely  an  aim,  but  he  knew  the  game  he 
was  playing  and  waited  for  the  change  of  mounts  at  the 
stable.  Once  the  gold  in  that  leather  cantle  roll  was  on 
the  fresh  horse  and  the  man  in  the  saddle,  then  it  would 
be  time  enough  to  deal  with  the  guard. 

Torley's  part  in  the  plot  called  for  skill  and  no  one 
knew  it  better  than  he.  If  he  fired  a  second  too  soon,  the 
courier  might  dash  back  for  the  safety  of  the  inn.  If  he 
fired  too  late,  he  might  miss  the  guard  altogether.  His 
task  was  to  make  the  horsemen  think  the  attack  had  come 
from  the  tavern — to  force  them  to  flee  from  it.  The  out- 
law half  wondered  whether  it  would  not  have  been  better 
to  have  held  by  Flash's  original  scheme  and  fallen  upon 
the  men,  three  to  two,  at  the  ford,  far  away  from  any 
possible  help.  It  was  too  late  for  that  now,  of  course. 

The  scant  time  lost  in  changing  horses  gave  token  of 
the  value  the  couriers  set  upon  speed.  They  swung  from 
their  saddles  before  they  left  the  road.  Torley  could  see 
them  loosening  their  girths,  as  the  horses  moved  toward 
the  stables.  The  light  reappeared  in  answer  to  a  hail,  and 
the  hostler  ran  into  the  yard.  A  moment  later,  he  dis- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  187 

appeared  again,  leaving  the  lantern  on  the  ground.  Tor- 
ley  steadied  the  long-barreled  pistol  on  the  log  and  aimed 
calmly,  deliberately,  swinging  his  sights  from  one  to  the 
other  as  the  two  men  moved  about,  unsaddling.  Just  as 
the  stable  boy  came  into  the  lantern  glow,  pulling  the 
fresh  post  horses  behind  him  by  their  halter  shanks,  the 
inn  door  opened  again  and  another  man  came  out.  Tor- 
ley  did  not  know  him,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
the  keeper  of  the  tavern. 

The  four  men  spoke  together  in  low  tones,  so  low  that 
the  outlaw  could  not  catch  a  word,  but  he  could  see  that 
they  were  in  a  hurry  from  the  manner  in  which  the  bridles 
were  slipped  over  the  animals'  heads  and  the  saddles  re- 
girthed.  Then  the  hostler  picked  up  the  light  and  held  it 
high,  as  one  of  the  men  felt  at  the  buckle  of  his  throat- 
latch  and  let  it  out  a  hole.  Silently  they  mounted  and 
turned  from  the  yard.  Torley  covered  the  guard,  moving 
his  pistol  carefully  as  the  horsemen  came  toward  him  out 
the  gate.  He  could  not  miss.  The  light  was  advantageous 
here,  throwing  both  men  and  horses  into  black  silhouettes. 
The  man  with  the  cantle  roll  turned  to  the  left  on  the 
Goshen  way,  gathered  reins  and  clicked  to  his  mount. 
Torley  waited  an  instant,  noted  that  they  were  taking  up 
the  same  positions  they  had  followed  in  coming  to  the  inn, 
then  saw  the  leader's  horse  start  with  impatience  at  the 
touch  of  roweled  spur.  He  paused  a  few  seconds  more 
and  knew  that  the  time  had  come.  He  fired.  It  was 
almost  point  blank.  His  arm  was  steady. 

That  was  the  shot  that  came  to  the  ears  of  Dave  and 
Bob  Allyn,  as  they  hastened  up  the  hill  from  the  west. 
At  the  flash  of  the  flintlock,  the  leading  horseman,  he  who 


188  SANDY  FLASH 

had  been  on  the  point  of  a  gallop  anyway,  drove  both 
spurs  into  his  mount's  flanks  with  a  slashing  rip.  Down 
the  slope  he  charged  with  never  a  glance  behind,  past  the 
unseen  lads  in  the  ditch,  round  the  bend  and  out  of  sight. 
The  innkeeper  shouted  and  turned  for  the  door  of  the 
house,  seeking  a  weapon.  The  hostler,  almost  in  direct 
line  of  fire  from  Torley's  pistol,  saw  the  flash  across  the 
road,  caught  a  passing  second's  blur  of  white  face  behind 
it,  as  the  powder  flared  in  the  pan,  then  dropped  his  lan- 
tern and  ran.  It  was  quite  the  wisest  thing  he  could  have 
done,  for  Torley  had  let  go  the  firearm  the  instant  he  had 
pulled  the  trigger,  and  reached  for  another  in  his  belt.  A 
blind  shot  from  the  landlord  in  the  doorway  had  been  the 
second  report  heard  by  the  boys. 

Torley  had  paid  no  heed  to  it,  whatever,  but  calmly 
discharged  his  fresh  pistol  along  the  Goshen  Road.  It 
was  this  which  had  sent  its  leaden  slug  pinging  just  over 
the  heads  of  the  two  lads.  Torley  had  purposely  fired 
wide.  He  did  not  see  Bob  or  Dave  at  all,  but  wanted  to 
make  sure  that  the  courier  would  not  risk  coming  back 
to  help  the  other  man. 

The  guard  lay  on  the  ground,  pinned  beneath  his  dying 
horse.  The  bullet  had  entered  the  poor  beast's  body 
back  of  the  shoulder  and  bowled  it  over  before  the  startled 
rider  could  jump  clear.  At  first  Torley  had  intended  to 
aim  at  the  man,  then  at  the  last  moment  he  had  unac- 
countably lowered  his  sights  and  shot  for  the  horse.  It 
would  serve  his  purpose  quite  as  well  and,  after  all,  save 
needless  murder.  Seeing  the  animal  down,  lashing  out 
its  life  in  spasmodic  kicks,  and  the  man  fast  in  the  stir- 
rup irons,  unable  to  rise,  Torley  replaced  the  pistols  in 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  189 

his  belt  and  ran  for  the  shelter  of  the  trees  before  the 
people  at  the  tavern  could  rally  to  pursue  him.  He  wanted 
to  reach  his  horse  and  from  that  point  of  safety  await  de- 
velopments. 

By  the  time  Dave  and  Bob  Allyn  had  raced  up  to  the 
Pratt  House,  slowed  in  their  efforts  by  the  metal  round 
their  ankles,  the  innkeeper  was  out  in  the  yard,  reloading 
his  flintlock  and  peering  across  the  white-gleaming  fields 
for  some  sign  of  the  lone  attacker.  The  stable  boy  had 
returned  from  the  shelter  of  the  sheds.  The  lantern  had 
been  overturned  in  the  rush  and  gone  out,  so  the  landlord 
sent  the  hostler  on  the  run  for  another  light.  Then  he 
and  the  boys  hurried  over  to  the  man  in  the  road,  still 
pinned  close  beneath  the  struggling  horse.  The  poor 
brute  stiffened  convulsively,  as  they  neared  him,  and 
seemed  to  hold  its  breath.  Then  with  a  groaning  sigh, 
long  drawn  and  truly  piteous  to  hear,  it  twisted  its  head 
and  neck  far  up  over  its  back.  A  slow  shudder  shook  the 
body  and  the  head  thudded  limp,  while  the  legs  extended 
to  their  full  length.  The  lips  strained  back  from  the  teeth 
in  ghastly  fashion  and  the  agony  passed.  Bob,  seeing  the 
animal  was  done  for,  bent  to  drag  the  man  from  beneath. 
The  death  of  the  horse  and  the  blood-stained  snow  made 
the  boy  weak,  for  a  moment,  and  a  little  sick,  but  he  kept 
well  in  hand  and  fought  it  off. 

"Where  are  you  hurt?  Did  it — were  you  hit,  too?" 
Only  then  did  the  lad  see  that  the  man  lay  heavily,  not  at- 
tempting to  extricate  himself.  "I  say,  Dave,  he  is  hurt! 
We'll  have  to  roll  the  horse  off  him.  Quick!  Maybe  he's 
shot  somewheres !  Pull  at  his  cape ! " 

It  was  a  well-nigh  impossible  effort  as  one  can  realize 


I9o  SANDY  FLASH 

who  has  tried  to  move  such  a  mass  of  limp  and  unman- 
ageable weight,  but  between  the  four  of  them,  they  suc- 
ceeded at  last  and  drew  out  the  unconscious  form.  The 
man  was  not  badly  injured,  as  they  saw  to  their  relief, 
once  they  had  gotten  him  clear.  His  head  had  struck 
heavily  in  falling,  knocking  him  out  for  the  time  being. 
His  eyes  opened,  as  they  eased  him  to  the  snow.  Evi- 
dently he  recognized  the  innkeeper,  for  he  struggled  to  sit 
up.  Then  he  felt  at  the  side  of  his  head  and  motioned 
toward  the  horse. 

"The  saddle!  Hurry!"  The  man  tried  desperately  to 
rise.  "The — oh,  can't  you  get  it!  They'll  be  back — • 
caugh — ah — ugh — "  He  groaned,  reached  awkwardly  for 
his  forehead  and  fainted  a  second  time  in  the  hostler's 
arms. 

Dave's  ear  alone  caught  hint  of  meaning,  as  the  mutter 
trailed  off  into  snoring  gasps  of  unconsciousness.  He  saw 
Bob  and  the  innkeeper  working  hurriedly  to  unloosen  the 
man's  neckerchief.  He  felt  the  hostler  shift  his  position 
and  let  the  body  settle  back  against  his  knee.  Dave 
glanced  toward  the  guard's  face.  It  was  blue-gray  and 
drawn  in  the  lamp  light.  The  boy  had  a  working  knowl- 
edge of  accidents  and  realized  that  the  blow,  as  the  horse 
fell,  must  have  given  the  poor  fellow  a  slight  concussion. 
A  trickle  of  blood  at  the  nostrils  confirmed  this.  It  would 
be  many  minutes  at  best  before  the  man  could  speak.  The 
catching  breath  alone  told  that. 

Saying  nothing,  unnoticed  by  the  others,  Dave  slipped 
round  the  little  group,  crossed  the  road  and  dropped  to 
his  knees  at  the  side  of  the  dead  horse.  There,  the  lad 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  191 

felt  for  the  girth  straps  beneath  the  flaps.  He  would 
pull  the  whole  thing  off,  if  he  could,  and  lug  it  to  the 
house  himself.  However,  he  saw  almost  instantly  that 
there  were  no  bags  there.  Bewildered,  he  began  to  feel 
over  the  leather  in  the  star  light.  The  man  had  certainly 
mumbled  about  his  saddle  the  moment  he  had  regained 
consciousness.  Dave  knew  he  had  not  imagined  it  or 
heard  wrongly.  Then  the  pistol  holsters  caught  his  eye 
and  the  boy's  mind  whipped  back  to  Peter  Burgandine 
and  the  ruse  the  old  farmer  from  Newlin  had  played  so 
cleverly  on  the  Edgemont  Road.  Seizing  the  butt  of  the 
one  he  could  reach,  Dave  pulled  it  free  and  drove  his 
hand  deep  in  the  case.  The  bulky  holster,  made  to  house 
a  horse-pistol,  ammunition  and  all,  was  empty. 

Again  the  lad  worked  at  the  girths.  He  would  get  the 
saddle  off  at  any  rate.  It  was  in  lifting  the  flaps  of  the 
old-fashioned  skirts  that  he  noted  their  weight.  The  trick 
began  to  dawn  upon  him,  even  before  he  could  feel  and 
bend  the  heavy  leather.  Dave  slipped  his  hands  along  the 
inner  lining,  then  whistled  softly.  He  had  heard  enough 
from  Sandy  Flash  and  his  men  to  know  that  it  was  minted 
coin  they  were  after,  sovereigns  of  the  king.  He  had  it 
now  beneath  his  fingers — gold,  heavy  gold,  more  of  it 
than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

It  was  a  simple  trick  and  a  very  old  one  that  the 
courier  and  his  guard  had  played.  The  guard  was  the 
man  who  carried  the  treasure  concealed  in  the  leather 
skirts  of  his  saddle  and  in  the  paneling  of  the  tree.  The 
whole  thing  had  been  slit  for  the  purpose,  then  stitched 
fast.  The  plan  was  to  divert  attention  in  case  of  trouble 


i92  SANDY  FLASH 

to  the  saddle  roll  shown  conspicuously  at  the  cantle  of 
the  leading  rider.  This  was  empty.  If  they  were  stopped 
during  their  midnight  gallop,  there  would  be  some  chance 
for  the  guard  to  make  good  his  escape,  while  the  other 
was  the  center  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the  attackers.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  both  men  felt  that  their  main  reliance 
lay  in  speed  and  secrecy.  The  utterly  unlooked-for  on- 
slaught at  the  inn,  within  help  of  the  people  there,  had  up- 
set their  well-conceived  arrangement.  The  first  horse- 
man had  naturally  taken  it  for  treachery  on  the  part  of 
the  landlord,  and  had  gotten  clear  as  fast  as  he  could. 
The  one  with  the  gold  did  not  know  at  the  time  what  had 
occurred  beyond  the  flash  and  the  fall  of  his  horse.  He 
was  a  luckier  man  than  he  imagined,  for  Torley's  action 
in  aiming  at  the  animal,  not  himself,  was  entirely  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment. 

Dave  raised  his  head  to  call  Bob,  then  first  became 
aware  that  he  was  by  himself.  The  three  figures  near  the 
light  had  picked  up  the  unconscious  man  and  were  mov- 
ing with  him  across  the  yard,  dragging  him  on  his  heavy 
riding  cloak.  Thanks  to  Bob's  size  and  strength,  and 
despite  his  wounded  arm,  they  were  managing  to  move 
the  burden  without  calling  on  Dave  for  help.  The  younger 
boy  glanced  up  and  down  the  Newtown  lane.  The  way 
was  clear,  but  it  would  not  do  to  leave  the  saddle  where 
it  was  unguarded.  Two  or  three  minutes  were  required 
before  the  under  flap  tore  loose  from  the  dead  bulk  of 
the  horse  upon  it  and  the  boy  was  able  to  drag  it  toward 
the  inn.  The  whole  thing,  saddle,  holsters  and  gold,  was 
more  than  he  could  lift  clear  of  the  ground. 

Had  Dave  looked  to  the  northeast,  across  the  low  fence, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  193 

he  would  never  have  walked  so  calmly  through  the  yard, 
nor  would  he  have  paused  to  grip  the  saddle  with  one  hand, 
while  he  raised  the  lantern  with  the  other.  The  land- 
lord had  left  it  in  the  snow.  As  it  was,  he  did  not  even 
hear  the  click  of  Torley's  pistol,  as  the  man  cocked  it 
twenty  yards  away. 

The  outlaw  had  run  for  shelter  the  moment  he  had 
seen  the  guard's  horse  fall  in  answer  to  his  shot.  From 
the  shadows  of  a  neighboring  spinney,  he  had  watched 
the  man  and  the  boys  gather  to  the  aid  of  the  helpless 
rider.  At  that  distance,  he  had  no  way  of  recognizing 
Dave  or  Bob.  Indeed,  he  had  long  since  forgotten  all 
about  the  lads  held  prisoners  in  the  cave  at  Castle  Rock. 
It  was  only  when  he  noted  Dave  leaving  the  group  near 
the  light  and  beginning  to  work  over  the  saddle  that  he 
dared  venture  nearer.  He  was  half  persuaded  to  turn 
back,  mount  his  horse  and  circling  the  inn,  canter  to  the 
ford,  perhaps  in  time  to  be  of  help  there.  When  the  boy 
bent  quickly  down,  however,  and  seemed  to  be  pulling  at 
something  heavy,  the  man  could  resist  no  longer.  It 
would  do  no  harm  to  satisfy  his  curiosity  and  great  good 
might  come  of  it.  Sandy  Flash  and  Dougherty  were  well 
qualified  to  take  care  of  one  scared  man  between  them. 

Stepping  lightly  on  the  damp  snow,  he  dodged  across 
the  field  and  slid  to  cover  at  the  log,  where  first  he  had 
established  his  lookout.  From  here  he  watched  Dave 
jerk  the  saddle  loose  and  start  for  the  tavern.  Then  it  was 
he  cocked  his  pistol,  half  raising  it.  He  could  not  be  sure 
what  the  boy  was  about.  That  the  gold  was  actually  there, 
almost  within  his  reach,  he  had  no  way  of  guessing.  Tor- 
ley  hesitated,  then  slipped  over  the  fence  line  to  the  road. 


194  SANDY  FLASH 

This  time  his  pistol  was  leveled,  steady  and  sure,  as  Dave's 
outline  sprang  into  sharp  distinctness  against  the  flood 
of  light  from  the  Pratt  House  door. 

Meanwhile,  the  man  with  the  saddle  roll  had  done  ex- 
actly what  Sandy  Flash  had  hoped — galloped  fast  as  ever 
he  could  lay  hoof  to  ground  down  the  Goshen  Road,  up 
the  rise  to  Brook's  Wood,  then  over  the  hill  to  Echo 
Valley  and  the  Crum  Creek  ford  below.  His  horse  was 
fresh  and  he  made  the  most  of  it,  sparing  neither  crop 
nor  spur.  For  the  first  furlong,  he  did  not  realize  that 
he  was  alone,  that  his  companion  had  gone  down  under  the 
shot.  Had  he  known  it,  he  would  have  reined  up  short 
and  fought  his  way  back  to  help  him,  for  the  man  had 
courage.  When  he  saw  what  had  happened,  it  was  too  late 
to  return  in  the  face  of  what  appeared  a  clear  enough  at- 
tack from  the  inn.  His  one  chance  now  lay  in  riding  on 
to  the  next  change,  giving  the  alarm  and  trying  to  get  back 
before  the  gold  in  the  saddle  had  been  discovered.  That 
he  was  not  the  one  shot  at  surprised  him. 

At  the  ford,  he  eased  his  mount  and  played  unwittingly, 
fatally,  into  Flash's  hands  by  letting  the  animal  suck  up 
a  swallow  or  so  between  his  bits.  It  was  while  off  guard 
thus,  near  the  juncture  of  the  Boot  and  Goshen  Roads, 
that  the  highwaymen  sprang  their  dastardly  ambuscade 
upon  him.  The  cowardly  affair  was  shorter  than  it  takes 
to  tell  it.  A  shot  from  the  cedars,  a  rearing  plunge  of  the 
horse  amid  the  spray  of  the  ford,  a  cry  that  choked  off 
in  a  horrible  sucking  moan — that  was  all.  Flash  dragged 
the  man  from  the  water,  while  Dougherty  caught  at  the 
flying  reins  and  pulled  the  beast  to  a  halt  further  up  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  195 

road.  The  two  men  bent  over  the  courier.  He  had  a 
bullet  through  the  neck.  Two  minutes  after  the  flash  of 
the  flintlock,  he  was  dead,  mercifully  spared  from  suffer- 
ing, never  even  knowing  what  hidden  blow  had  struck  him 
from  the  saddle. 

A  little  later,  Flash  tossed  aside  the  man's  waistcoat. 
He  had  searched  the  body  from  head  to  foot,  he  had  gone 
over  the  horse's  tack,  sparing  nothing.  In  a  white  passion 
of  anger,  he  had  ripped  the  empty  roll  from  the  cantle 
and  hurled  it  to  the  creek — but  first  he  had  blown  the 
acrid  smoke  from  his  pistol  barrel  and  reloaded. 

"It's  Torley  that's  ruined  the  whole  thing!  The  bloody 
fool,  I  might  have  known  it! "  There  followed  a  stream  of 
vituperation  whose  filth  kept  even  Mordecai  silent.  "Well, 
what  are  ye  standin'  there  lookin'  at  me  for?  The  gold's 
still  gold,  ain't  it?  It's  not  ours  yet,  is  it?  Think  I  like 
killin'  a  man  for  the  sport  of  it!  Huh?"  Flash  turned 
irritably  from  the  quiet  face  in  the  snow.  The  eyes 
stared  too  fixedly,  too  wonderingly  upward — above  the 
horror  of  the  blood-soaked  stock.  He  did  not  want  to  re- 
member those  eyes.  "Ye're  damned  well  mistaken,  Mort! 
Run  quick  for  the  nags  at  Castle  Rock,  ye  fool,  an'  stop 
your  wall-eyed  starin'!  I'll  bide  here  for  Torley  or  case 
the  other  fellow  comes!  Run!  The  gold's  at  the  Pratt 
House,  man,  I  tell  ye,  an'  we're  goin'  there  to  get  it!" 

Dougherty  turned  and  bolted  through  the  trees. 

Two  miles  to  the  east,  Dave  was,  at  this  moment,  pull- 
ing the  heavy  saddle  across  the  tavern  threshold.  On  en- 
tering, he  found  himself  in  a  small  room  to  the  right  of 
the  bar.  The  flicker  of  a  candle  on  the  taproom  ceiling 
told  him  where  the  injured  guard  had  been  carried.  He 


196  SANDY  FLASH 

could  hear  Bob's  voice  there  and  the  hum  of  the  inn- 
keeper's tones,  but  before  joining  them,  his  first  move 
was  to  shut  and  bar  the  east  door.  The  one  to  the  north 
was  already  fast.  Little  did  he  suspect  the  nearness  of 
the  man  outside  or  that  he  himself  had  been  within  an  ace 
of  death.  Torley's  better  judgment  had  saved  the  boy, 
as  the  outlaw  saw  the  folly  of  stirring  up  a  hornet's  nest 
single-handed  and  perhaps  to  no  purpose.  If  they  had  to 
force  the  place,  they  would  do  it  together,  Flash  and  Mort 
to  help  him.  No  doubt  the  gold  was  safe  in  his  friends' 
hands  by  now,  anyway.  He  held  his  fire  and  slipped  into 
the  shadow  of  the  tavern  wall. 

The  door  fast  barred,  Dave  breathed  more  freely, 
though  little  there  was  to  disturb  him  in  the  midnight 
calm.  He  hurried  across  the  room,  scraping  the  saddle 
after  him  on  the  cleanly  sanded  floor.  At  the  door  to  the 
taproom,  he  saw  Bob  standing  beside  a  long  settee  on 
which  they  had  stretched  the  guard.  The  hostler  and  the 
innkeeper  were  working  over  his  head  with  some  sort  of 
a  wet  bandage.  Dave  wondered  vaguely  how  they  could 
have  gotten  it  so  soon.  He  saw  the  man  was  still  uncon- 
scious, breathing  in  long-drawn  snores  that  rattled  alarm- 
ingly in  his  throat. 

The  innkeeper  heard  the  boy  at  the  door  and  swung 
about.  In  the  excitement  that  followed,  the  hostler  was 
left  to  bind  up  the  guard's  head,  while  Bob  and  the  land- 
lord helped  Dave  rip  the  saddle.  A  glance  was  enough. 
The  gold  was  there,  far  more  than  seemed  possible  in  so 
small  a  space,  but  the  work  had  been  done  cleverly  and 
the  saddle  was  a  huge,  old-fashioned  affair  to  begin  with. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  197 

The  landlord  pointed  to  the  little  cut  they  had  made  in 
the  leather,  where  the  sovereigns  glinted  through. 

"We  can't  have  this  lying  round,  that's  one  thing," 
he  shook  his  head.  "He  must  have  known  of  it,  the  devil 
that  fired.  More'n  I  did!  All  they  bothered  telling  me 
was  to  have  the  post  change  ready  for  two  and  stout 
fresh  horses  at  that.  They  never  so  much  as  hinted  what 
was  being  carried,  the  ones  who  ordered  the  relay  didn't!" 

"Oh,  Flash  had  it  all  from  some  fellow  in  the  town. 
They  knew  the  whole  thing.  We  heard  'em!" 

"Yes,  and  the  other  one — " 

"Flash!"  the  landlord  cried  out  in  startled  wonderment. 
"Sandy  Flash!  What's  this  you're  saying?  Quick,  lad, 
speak  quick!" 

Between  them,  the  boys  enlightened  him  as  far  as  they 
were  able,  telling  of  the  plot  to  seize  the  gold  as  they  had 
heard  it  from  Torley's  report  to  Flash.  The  older  man 
knew  a  good  deal  of  the  outlaw  from  past  experience.  His 
forehead  furrowed  deeply,  as  he  heard  the  name  of  Sandy 
Flash  repeated  and  realized  the  gravity  of  what  was  tak- 
ing place.  Interrupting  their  story,  he  dropped  the  sad- 
dle and  called  to  his  helper  in  tones  full  of  anxiety.  He 
made  no  effort  to  conceal  how  he  felt. 

"Quick,  Jim!  It's  Sandy  Flash  again!  I  might  have 
guessed  it.  They'll  be  on  us  any  minute,  when  they  miss 
the  gold!  The  bench,  there,  shove  it  against  the  door! 
Run,  lad,  look  to  the  windows!  See  to  the  back  door  and 
the  one  in  the  hall  that  gives  on  Goshen  Road!  We'll 
hold  'em  off!  Boys,  you'll  have  to  help.  We've  a  gun 
or  two  somewheres!  Hunt  'em  up,  Jim!  Take  the  settle 


i98  SANDY  FLASH 

to  the  hall  and  make  a  barricade!  Quick,  before  they  rush 
us!  Don't  bother  with  that  fellow's  head,  he'll  come 
round  all  right.  Pile  some  chairs  there!" 

The  boys  did  as  they  were  ordered.  The  heavy  settee, 
reinforced  with  an  upturned  table,  was  shoved  against  the 
main  door,  while  the  other  was  blocked  with  ale  kegs.  It 
was  the  best  they  could  do.  The  brew  was  heavy  enough, 
at  that,  rich  country  making.  The  hostler,  Jim,  ran 
quickly  from  window  to  window,  testing  the  oaken  bars; 
the  landlord  hastened  upstairs  to  reassure  his  wife  and 
see  that  she  kept  out  of  danger.  As  he  came  down,  he 
beckoned  to  Dave. 

"We'll  show  'em  a  fight,  lad!  I  learned  a  thing  or  two 
about  it  once!  They'll  be  breaking  in  any  minute  now, 
like  as  not,  but  we'll  be  good  and  ready  for  'em!  Better 
get  this  out  of  the  way,  though,  first,"  he  pointed  to  the 
saddle  on  the  floor.  "Do  you  mind  the  pit  I  showed  you 
last  time  you  were  here?  The — " 

"Under  the  kitchen  closet?"  The  secret  chamber 
where  the  landlord  had  hidden  his  silver  while  Old  Bur- 
gandine  held  the  light,  flashed  instantly  into  the  boy's 
mind.  "Oh,  yes,  it's  back  there!" 

"Well,  get  the  gold  in  it  quick  as  ever  you  can,  boy! 
You'll  find  the  ladder  somewhere.  I  must  help  the  others. 
Here,  Jim,  run  quick  with  him!  Seen  to  the  windows? 
Good!  Hurry!  They  may  be  close  about  us  now !  Bet- 
ter keep  back  from  the  light — 

The  four  defenders  were  determined  to  make  the  best 
of  it  and  hold  the  tavern.  The  silence  and  the  calm  out- 
side did  not  encourage  them  at  all  nor  mislead  them  into 
supposing  that  there  would  be  no  further  trouble.  Rather 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  199 

it  worked  upon  their  nerves  and  made  it  all  the  harder 
for  them  to  wait,  inactive  and  tense,  expecting  something 
to  happen.  The  landlord,  whispering  his  orders,  crouched 
behind  a  pile  of  upturned  furniture  in  the  hall,  flintlock 
in  hand.  Bob,  armed  with  an  old-time  fowling  piece,  was 
in  the  taproom,  watching  the  windows.  Jim,  the  hostler, 
had  a  leaded  hunting  crop  which  he  carried  with  him,  as 
he  accompanied  Dave  to  the  kitchen  in  the  rear.  All  to- 
gether, it  was  not  much  by  way  of  armament,  but  then 
the  walls  of  the  old  stone  inn  were  thick  and  the  doors 
and  windows  barred  with  oak.  Best  of  all,  the  little 
party  had  courage.  The  landlord  had  not  gone  in  vain 
to  Louisburg  Siege  in  the  old  days  of  '45.  He  was  of 
fighting  stock  and  aimed  to  prove  it  now  as  he  had  with 
PepperelPs  New  Englanders. 

Dave  hurried  through  the  dim  hallway,  felt  his  steps 
across  the  kitchen,  and  sank  to  his  knees  at  the  closet, 
prying  for  the  boards  he  knew  would  lift. 

Had  he  not  been  shown  the  secret  of  loosening  them 
on  his  former  visit,  he  never  could  have  released  them 
now.  Even  so,  he  took  a  great  deal  longer  than  he  should 
have,  wasting  time  in  nervous  haste.  When  the  flooring 
had  been  moved,  Dave  grabbed  the  saddle  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  and  slung  it  over  the  black  pit.  His  hand  clasped 
the  slit  in  the  leather  to  hold  the  packed  coins  in  place. 
Then  suddenly  he  thought  better  of  it,  dragging  it  back. 

"I  reckon  I'd  better  take  it  down  myself,  hadn't  I, 
not  drop  it  and  spill  all  the  gold?  We'd  never  get  it 
gathered  again.  Where's  the  ladder  he  had,  Jim?" 

Making  as  little  noise  as  they  could,  the  man  and  boy 
searched  by  touch  until  they  had  found  it  behind  a  tall 


200  SANDY  FLASH 

dresser  in  the  corner.  To  lower  it  into  the  pit  through 
the  narrow  opening  was  harder  than  they  had  anticipated, 
but  they  got  it  in  place  at  last  and  Dave  went  down.  The 
stone-walled  space  below  was  inky  black,  damp,  earthy. 
The  boy  groped  about  for  the  sides,  feeling  his  way  inch 
by  inch  as  his  fingers  touched  the  sweat  of  masonry.  It 
was  slimy  like  snails  and  he  shuddered.  The  darkness  was 
more  than  lack  of  light  down  there.  It  was  a  smothering 
pall,  heavy,  devoid  of  life.  Dave  completed  the  circle  of 
the  room  and  felt  his  way  back  to  the  ladder,  his  out- 
stretched arms  waving  before  him  like  antennae. 

As  he  grasped  the  lower  rungs,  vastly  relieved,  he  called 
to  the  hostler  above  in  a  thin  whisper,  a  bit  uncertain. 
The  silence  and  the  dark  had  crushed  the  vitality  out  of 
him,  what  was  left  after  the  ordeal  he  had  been  through 
already  that  night. 

"Hurry,  lower  me  the  saddle,  will  you!  Quick,  Jim, 
I  can  reach  it  from  here  and  ease  it  down ! " 

There  was  no  reply.  Fearful  of  raising  his  voice  fur- 
ther, Dave  began  to  climb  upward.  He  regretted  that  he 
had  wasted  any  time  at  all  stumbling  about  in  the  murk 
of  the  pit.  Better  if  he  had  tossed  down  the  gold  and 
been  done  with  it,  whether  it  spilt  all  over  the  place 
below  or  not.  The  hostler  must  have  slipped  away  to 
join  the  others  for  some  reason. 

Dave  listened.  The  tavern  was  still,  still  as  death.  He 
climbed  a  rung  higher,  felt  for  the  saddle  and  pulled  it 
toward  him.  The  noise  it  made  scraping  on  the  sand  of 
the  floor  seemed  deafening.  Dave's  heart  thumped  pain- 
fully. In  a  kind  of  quick  panic,  he  worked  the  heavy 
thing  through  the  opening,  pushed  it  to  one  side  and  let 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  PRATT  201 

go.  The  boy's  nerves  had  frayed  again  and  he  knew  he 
would  have  to  scream  aloud  if  he  did  not  get  rid  of  the 
saddle,  if  he  did  not  get  out  of  the  place  and  that  right 
soon.  He  wanted  to  be  with  the  others,  to  see  them, 
anything  but  this  black  pitch  of  terror  that  pressed  in 
on  him  from  every  side. 

Just  as  he  pulled  his  body  half  through  the  trapway, 
fighting  gamely  to  keep  his  nerve  in  hand,  a  sound  from 
the  kitchen  door  sent  the  lad's  heart  fluttering  once  more 
against  his  ribs,  choking  him,  stifling  him  with  fright  he 
could  not  control.  The  noise  was  faint,  indescribably 
low,  a  mere  thread  of  sound,  yet  unmistakable.  Some  one 
was  working  at  the  wooden  bar,  working  at  it  steadily 
from  the  outside. 

The  boy  hesitated  a  second,  then  by  a  convulsive  twist 
of  his  body  got  clear  of  the  ladder.  He  was  too  late.  The 
door  across  the  darkened  room  had  opened. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  LOST  TRAIL 

THE  first  hint  of  danger  that  came  to  the  landlord 
was  when  hostler  Jim  slipped  into  the  hall  and 
whispered  excitedly  that  he  thought  he  had  heard  some 
one  at  the  rear  door.  The  young  fellow  wanted  to  bor- 
row his  master's  gun,  but  the  man  insisted  on  going  him- 
self and  so  lost  a  precious  moment  or  two  in  warning  Bob. 
The  boy  would  have  to  shift  his  position  from  the  tap- 
room and  guard  the  front  hall  with  its  two  doors.  That 
was  the  weak  point  in  their  defense.  The  defenders  of 
the  inn  had  waited  in  such  a  strain  of  silence  that  they 
were  jumpy,  nervous,  fearful  of  a  trick.  Sure  that  the 
front  was  being  taken  care  of,  the  innkeeper  and  the 
hostler  tiptoed  back  to  help  Dave  get  the  gold  into  the 
room  below  without  further  delay.  That  done  and  the 
flooring  in  place,  they  could  barricade  the  kitchen  door,  if 
necessary.  The  innkeeper  knew  that  Jim  had  long  since 
seen  to  the  great  oak  bar  that  crossed  from  jamb  to  jamb, 
resting  in  sockets  of  hand-wrought  iron. 

As  they  felt  their  way  through  the  hall,  the  hostler  in 
front  caught  the  scraping  noise  of  Dave  pulling  the  sad- 
dle toward  the  trap,  but  he  feared  to  call  out  to  him.  If 
the  outlaws  were  close  at  hand,  it  would  be  just  as  well  to 
let  their  welcome  come  as  much  of  a  surprise  as  possible. 
The  lad  gripped  his  crop  far  down  by  the  loop  and  swung 
back  the  loaded  butt.  It  was  not  a  weapon  to  be  passed 

202 


THE  LOST  TRAIL  203 

by  lightly.  At  the  hall  door  leading  into  the  kitchen,  he 
paused.  The  darkness  was  impenetrable.  Not  even  the 
windows  could  be  placed,  their  gray  outline  blotted  by 
heavy  shutters. 

Jim  held  his  breath  and  listened.  He  knew  that  the 
saddle  had  been  dragged  down  the  trapway,  but  that  was 
all.  The  place  was  heavy  with  silence,  black,  ominous, 
oppressive.  Nervously  he  strained  for  some  hint  of  Dave 
on  the  ladder,  so  that  he  could  whisper  a  warning.  The 
landlord,  stepping  as  lightly  as  he  could,  edged  forward 
beside  him,  clutching  his  flintlock,  peering  vainly  into  the 
dark.  Even  the  banked  fire  on  the  hearth  was  invisible. 
He,  too,  tried  to  make  out  some  sound,  breathing  through 
his  mouth  and  swallowing  in  little  pants  of  excitement,  as 
he  bent  forward. 

"I  can't  hear  a  thing,  Jim.  What  do  you  say?  Get  the 
Thomas  lad  from  the  closet,  then  push  the  table  agin  the 
door.  Hey?  Quick!  If  they  try  to  rush  us,  it'll  be  hot! " 

"Ssh!  I'll  go  'cross  the  room  and  tell  the  boy  first. 
He's  still  below!  We've  got  to  get  the  ladder  out,  too,  and 
put  the  boards  down  before  they  begin  to  shoot!" 

The  hostler  ceased  speaking,  his  fingers  tense  on  the 
heavy  hunting  crop.  Across  the  pall  of  darkness  from  the 
outside  door  came  the  same  scratching  he  had  heard  when 
first  he  had  slipped  away  for  aid.  Unconsciously,  he 
clutched  with  his  free  hand  at  the  innkeeper's  arm  to  at- 
tract his  attention.  The  older  man  shook  the  lad  off,  as  he 
cocked  his  piece.  He,  too,  had  heard.  This  was  his 
kitchen  they  were  trying  to  enter,  his  own  tavern,  and  he 
proposed  to  show  them  something  they  had  not  counted  on. 
The  man's  anger  had  been  aroused  in  earnest.  The  trick 


204  SANDY  FLASH 

of  the  candlestick  rankled  sore  in  his  mind,  ever  since 
Flash  had  humiliated  the  posse  and  escaped,  not  so  long 
before. 

"Slip  back,  Jim,  lad,  you've  got  no  gun!  They're  try- 
ing to  work  loose  the  bar  of  the  door!  Hist!  Get  thee 
back,  they're  coming  in!" 

The  voice  was  barely  audible,  but  the  hostler  could 
make  out  enough  to  shake  his  head  stubbornly  in  the 
gloom.  He  stood  where  he  was.  "I'm  all  right,  sir.  Ready 
for  'em  with  the  leaded  end  o'  me  crop!  I  think  they're 
slidin'  up  the  bar  with  a  knife  or  something!  Sounds 
like  it." 

"Don't  let  'em  hear  us,  Jim!  It's  halfway  loose  they've 
gotten  it  already.  Let  'em  open  it  all  the  way,  now,  lad, 
and  we'll  give  it  to  'em  hot  and  heavy  when  they  least  ex- 
pect it!  Get  back,  I  tell  you,  they'll  be  shooting  next!" 

"Hush!  The  boy's  comin'  up  the  ladder  now!  I'll 
have  to  get  him  stopped ! " 

Everything  happened  so  quickly  from  then  on  that  the 
Battle  of  the  Pratt,  as  Dave  called  it  afterward,  was  over 
before  either  he  or  Bob  Allyn  knew  what  was  taking 
place.  The  outer  door  moved  open  just  as  the  boy  on  the 
ladder  pulled  himself  onto  his  hands  and  knees,  free  of 
the  trapway.  He  saw  the  widening  strip  of  gray,  as  the 
reflection  from  the  star  light  on  the  snow  broke  the  dark- 
ness of  the  room.  Simultaneously,  he  heard  Jim's  whisper 
from  the  inner  door  and  knew  that  he  was  not  alone.  He 
also  realized  that  there  was  no  time  to  think  of  replacing 
the  flooring  of  the  closet.  Dave  dropped  flat  on  his  face, 
as  the  kitchen  flamed  and  rocked  to  the  thunderous  roar 
of  the  innkeeper's  flintlock.  Then  came  the  smoke,  black 


THE  LOST  TRAIL  205 

clouds  of  it,  filling  the  place  with  the  reek  of  gunpowder, 
acid,  choking,  stinging  the  eyes.  Dave,  seeing  he  was 
between  the  lines  of  fire,  followed  the  only  course  open  to 
him  and  hugged  the  floor.  He  might  well  have  stood  up, 
for  the  battle  was  nearly  over. 

Torley  had  gotten  his  fill  of  a  Pratt  House  welcome! 
When  he  had  seen  Dave  dragging  the  saddle  into  the  tav- 
ern, he  had  slipped  across  the  road  and  disappeared  into 
the  shadows  of  the  wall.  From  here,  he  had  listened  at 
the  door  and  again  at  the  windows  of  the  building. 
Though  he  could  make  out  no  words  through  the  thick- 
ness of  shutters,  he  could  hear  sounds  enough  from  within 
to  convince  him  that  something  had  put  the  people  there 
on  guard.  Perplexed,  he  began  to  wonder  whether  the 
lad  he  had  seen  with  the  saddle  could  possibly  have  caught 
sight  of  him  beyond  the  fence  and  yet  have  had  the  cour- 
age and  coolness  to  walk  calmly  up  to  the  door  with  his 
heavy  burden.  That  set  the  man  thinking.  Why  had 
the  boy  taken  so  much  trouble  with  that  same  saddle? 
Heavy  it  was,  undoubtedly,  and  hard  to  pull  along,  but 
bare  of  cantle  roll  or  bags.  The  other  horseman  had  car- 
ried that.  Torley  was  quite  sure  of  it.  Then  it  was  that 
he  thought  of  the  back  door.  He  would  look  into  the 
thing  a  little  further  before  joining  Sandy  Flash,  past 
Echo  Valley. 

The  rest  was  easy.  Reassured  by  the  darkness  within, 
and  the  silence,  that  no  one  was  on  guard  in  the  kitchen, 
the  man  had  slipped  the  blade  of  his  long  knife  between 
the  door  and  the  jamb.  He  did  not  know  whether  he 
would  be  able  to  force  an  entrance  that  way  or  not,  but 
he  felt  that  it  would,  at  least,  do  no  harm  to  try.  It  was 


206  SANDY  FLASH 

somewhat  to  his  surprise,  when  he  located  the  oaken  bar 
and  realized  that  he  could  work  it  from  its  sockets.  And 
readily  enough,  too.  After  all,  many  doors  in  the  coun- 
try depended,  like  this  one,  on  bars,  as  locks  were  looked 
upon  as  a  needless  luxury.  Torley's  luck  was  still  hold- 
ing fair.  The  heavy  bar  slipped  free  with  a  jolt. 

Torley  replaced  the  knife  in  its  sheath,  drew  his  pistol 
and  pushed  the  door  quietly  inward.  Then  he  stepped 
across  the  threshold  and  paused  to  accustom  his  eyes  to 
the  darkness,  as  he  sought  to  get  his  bearings.  Before  he 
could  stir,  the  innkeeper  had  fired.  It  was  as  much  the 
vivid  flash  and  the  startling  surprise  of  it  as  anything 
else,  that  sent  Torley  staggering  backward,  his  own 
weapon  still  clutched  in  his  hand — trigger  unpulled.  Hard 
upon  the  powder  flare  came  the  whang  of  the  leaden  bullet 
as  it  splintered  the  jamb  beside  him, — that,  and  the  report 
of  the  flintlock,  magnified  many  fold  by  the  narrow  walls 
and  low-raftered  ceiling  of  the  room.  The  man  clapped  a 
hand  to  his  bloody  cheek  where  a  sliver  of  wood  had 
ripped  it  to  the  bone,  then  turned  and  leaped  through 
the  door  with  a  low  curse  of  pain.  As  the  sweep  of  his 
cloak  filled  the  gray  rectangle  of  light,  Jim  came  to  life 
and  action.  Instant,  darting  speed  hurled  him  through 
the  air  like  the  bound  of  a  catamount. 

The  stable  boy  had  started  toward  the  closet,  when  the 
door  began  to  open.  As  the  man  entered,  Jim  had  hesi- 
tated, fearful  to  move  lest  he  betray  Dave  and  the  secret 
room  below.  Then  the  landlord  had  fired  and  the  outlaw 
had  turned  to  flee.  Jim  knew  his  time  had  come.  Two 
great  springs  brought  the  lad  to  the  doorway.  Up  swung 
the  crop  in  a  whistling  arc.  The  boy  struck,  struck  with 


THE  LOST  TRAIL  207 

all  the  power  of  his  arm.  Not  in  vain  had  he  strapped 
and  rubbed  and  curried  horses  since  he  was  a  little  lad. 
Had  the  leaded  butt  fallen  on  the  man's  head  it  would 
have  brained  him.  No  hat  could  have  turned  the  weighted 
momentum  of  such  a  blow.  There  was  a  terrific  impact 
and  the  ash  plant  split  in  pieces.  Jim  had  swung  too 
high,  the  leaded  end  had  crushed  in  the  lintel.  Before  he 
could  recover,  the  courageous  lad  pitched  headlong  to  the 
snow  without,  the  broken  remnant  of  the  crop  fast 
clutched  in  his  fist. 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Torley  whipped  about.  He  knew  he 
was  beaten.  He  knew  his  failure  had  lost  all  chance  for 
Sandy  Flash  and  Dougherty  to  effect  a  successful  attack 
backed  by  surprise.  In  a  blind  rage  of  fear  and  disap- 
pointment, he  sought  to  tear  his  pistol  clear  of  the  cape 
fold  entangling  it.  He  would  account  for  one  at  the  inn 
anyway.  He  would  pay  the  score  of  his  bleeding  cheek. 
The  man  cursed  vilely,  for  the  hampering  cloak  clung  fast 
about  his  arm  and  he  could  not  snatch  it  loose.  With  a 
final  wrench,  the  weapon  swung  free.  Torley's  finger 
gripped  for  the  cocking  piece  of  the  trigger.  In  the  strug- 
gle, it  was  small  wonder,  however,  that  he  had  lost  the 
priming.  The  flint  scattered  vain  sparks  and  Torley  slung 
the  long  pistol  about  to  catch  it  by  the  muzzle.  Then 
with  the  curved  handle  and  butt  upraised,  a  vicious,  crip- 
pling bludgeon,  he  sprang  for  the  hostler.  Jim  still  lay 
face  downward,  knocked  breathless  in  the  snow. 

The  stable  boy  owed  his  life  to  Dave  Thomas.  Before 
Jim  could  know  what  Torley  was  about,  before  he  him- 
self could  possibly  have  warded  off  the  blow  from  the 
mace-like  pistol,  Dave  had  reached  the  door  and  taken 


208  SANDY  FLASH 

in  the  situation.  He  dove  at  the  man  with  no  thought, 
no  plan,  just  hurled  his  whole  body  at  the  ruffian's  knees. 
The  two  came  down  in  a  kicking,  struggling  pile,  to  be 
joined  an  instant  later  by  Jim,  who  pitched  into  the  fight 
with  a  fury  that  speedily  brought  the  man  to  terms.  That 
was  the  end.  Two  minutes  more  and  the  landlord  had 
gotten  the  outlaw  tied  to  a  chair,  Jim,  Bob  and  Dave  as- 
sisting. There  was  little  pugnacity  left  in  the  fellow.  He 
understood  his  danger  pretty  well. 

Before  bringing  him  indoors,  however,  the  flooring  of 
the  kitchen  closet  had  been  carefully  replaced  and  the 
door  shut.  Torley  refused  to  speak  when  questioned, 
nursing  his  torn  cheek  in  silence,  so  they  had  to  content 
themselves  with  a  renewed  watch.  Jim  and  Dave  took 
the  rear  door  again,  this  time  fastening  the  bar  so  that  it 
could  not  be  pried  so  easily  from  its  sockets.  Jim  waited 
till  he  had  everything  fixed  to  his  satisfaction,  then  he 
crossed  the  room  and  held  out  his  hand.  He  was  ill  at 
ease,  but  determined  to  acknowledge  his  debt  to  the  boy 
whose  wit  and  action  had  saved  his  life. 

"Thanks,  Dave  Thomas.  I  ain't  so  good  at  talking  but 
that  there  dive  o'  your'n  bowled  him  over  jist  about  in 
time  for  to  guard  me  brains.  Hopes  you  know  I — oh — ; 
how  I — ah,  shucks,  you  understand,  I  reckon — " 

"Don't  be  thanking  me,"  Dave  reddened  uncomfort- 
ably. Of  all  things  in  the  world,  he  most  dreaded  a  scene. 
"We've  done  pretty  well,  to-night,  all  of  us,  and  I  reckon 
we'll  be  able  to  hold  out,  too.  Do  you  think  Flash  and 
Dougherty'11'come  here  when  they  guess  the  gold's  still 
at  the  inn  and  this  fellow  of  theirs  doesn't  show  up? 
They'll  begin  to  suspect  something  pretty  soon." 


THE  LOST  TRAIL;  209 

At  a  sign  from  Jim,  Dave  bit  his  lip.  He  had  forgotten 
all  about  the  outlaw  in  the  chair.  To  cover  up,  he  talked 
on  hurriedly,  taking  care  to  make  no  further  mention  of 
the  treasure.  It  was  not  lost  upon  the  boy,  however,  that 
the  man  had  heard.  Uneasily  he  realized  that  he  had  be- 
trayed his  own  identity.  Up  to  this,  Torley  had  never 
connected  Dave  or  Bob,  either,  with  the  lads  he  had  seen 
on  Castle  Rock.  Now  it  seemed  as  though  he  must  be 
sure  of  it. 

It  was  after  two  in  the  morning,  when  the  landlord  re- 
turned to  the  kitchen.  He  had  decided  to  risk  letting 
the  boys  get  some  sleep.  He  and  the  hostler  could  take 
turns  on  guard.  Indeed,  it  was  high  time  for  relief,  as 
Dave  had  already  nodded  off  more  than  once,  try  as  he 
would  to  keep  awake.  Bob  was  even  more  exhausted. 
The  shock  of  his  wound  had  given  way  to  the  inevitable 
reaction  with  the  passing  of  excitement.  He  felt  sick  at 
his  stomach  and  weak. 

The  landlord  carried  in  his  hand  a  stout  file.  They  had 
all  been  so  anxious,  so  fearful  of  a  sudden  rushing  of  the 
doors,  up  to  this  hour,  that  none  of  them  had  spared  a 
moment's  thought  for  the  broken  irons  still  tied  to  the 
boys'  ankles  with  the  strips  of  blanket.  A  few  moments 
steady  filing  forced  the  rusty  anklets  apart  and  the  metal 
bands  clinked  to  the  floor. 

"There!  That'll  feel  a  bit  more  comfortable,  won't 
it?"  The  man  put  the  file  on  the  mantelpiece  and  kicked 
the  leg  irons  toward  the  hearth.  "Now  you're  ready  for 
a  nip  of  sleep,  the  pair  of  you.  Curl  up  yonder  in  the  bar 
where  there're  rugs  a-plenty.  I'll  call  if  trouble  comes. 
In  the  morning,  'twill  be  time  enough  to  worry  getting 


210  SANDY  FLASH 

home.  Your  folks  are  sleeping  sound  right  now,  think- 
ing you're  biding  the  night  in  a  farmhouse.  Get  a  good 
rest  while  you  can." 

No  more  urging  was  required  to  persuade  them  to  lie 
down  on  a  pile  of  buffalo  robes  that  the  innkeeper  spread 
for  them  in  the  taproom.  Before  the  man  had  left  them, 
they  were  fast  asleep.  The  next  they  knew,  the  room 
was  full  of  light  from  opened  shutters  and  the  hall  echoed 
to  the  babbled  tone  of  voices,  high  pitched  with  excite- 
ment. It  was  seven  o'clock  and  a  clear,  cold  morning. 
Not  a  trace  of  yesterday's  fog  was  to  be  seen. 

The  boys  soon  learned  that  the  innkeeper  had  taken 
on  the  rounds  of  the  lower  rooms  himself,  as  it  drew 
toward  dawn,  sending  Jim  on  horseback  to  warn  as  many 
neighbors  as  possible  and  to  raise  a  posse.  He  had  been 
led  to  this  by  the  pleas  of  the  injured  courier  who  had 
recovered  consciousness  shortly  after  the  capture  of  Tor- 
ley.  The  man  had  explained  to  the  landlord  that  it  was  a 
question  of  government  funds  that  were  involved.  He 
had  said  that  he  and  his  companion  had  been  warned  es- 
pecially to  look  out  for  Sandy  Flash  and  to  keep  clear  of 
the  Valley  roads  for  that  very  reason,  as  the  outlaw  was 
known  to  have  a  hidden  stronghold  in  Cain  Township 
somewheres.  Why  Sandy  Flash  and  Dougherty  had  not 
come  to  Torley's  aid  and  attacked  the  lonely  inn  to  win 
the  gold,  no  one  of  the  tired  watchers  could  understand. 
It  was  not  like  the  usual  way  of  the  highwaymen.  It 
puzzled  the  landlord  and  made  him  uneasy. 

He  had  no  way  of  knowing  of  the  murder  of  the  first 
courier  or  of  Flash's  haste  in  sending  his  accomplice  back 
to  Castle  Rock  for  the  horses.  What  had  occurred  was 


THE  LOST  TRAIL  211 

simple  enough.  Mordecai  Dougherty  had  hurried  off  to 
carry  out  the  orders  of  his  chief.  He  had  gone  to  the 
cave  for  a  mislaid  strap  and  there  discovered  the  escape 
of  the  boys.  Five  minutes'  frantic  galloping  saw  him  with 
Sandy  Flash  once  more  near  the  Crum  Creek  ford.  The" 
news  he  brought  served  to  calm  the  outlaw's  temper.  The 
man  had  not  become  the  most  notorious  highwayman  of 
the  countryside  without  learning  the  value  of  discretion. 
None  were  more  reckless,  more  daring,  than  he  when  he 
saw  the  scene  was  set  to  play  it  to  his  gain.  But  he  could 
also  tell  when  to  bow  before  force  of  circumstance.  In 
this,  lay  the  secret  of  his  criminal  success  and  long  free- 
dom from  capture.  The  Pratt  House  would  be  warned  by 
now,  he  realized,  whatever  had  happened  to  Torley  there. 
The  boys,  too,  must  already  be  raising  an  alarm  in  the 
neighborhood  on  their  own  score.  The  escape  from  the 
cave  at  Castle  Rock  settled  it.  That  meant  he  had  no 
near-by  retreat  safe  from  pursuit.  The  time  had  come  to 
leave  this  end  of  the  county  and  seek  another  of  his  lairs 
to  the  west. 

Disregarding  Mordecai  entirely,  the  blackguard  left 
the  dead  courier  without  so  much  as  a  glance  and  can- 
tered through  the  ravine.  There  was  no  use  now  in  con- 
cealing his  mount's  footprints.  The  boys  would  be  sure 
to  lead  the  chase  to  Castle  Rock  whatever  care  he  used. 
At  the  cave,  Flash  snatched  his  few  belongings  together, 
crammed  them  into  a  saddle  bag,  rolled  up  his  blanket 
and  crawled  out  once  more  to  rejoin  Dougherty  below. 
Then,  leading  the  spare  horse,  he  and  the  other  galloped 
west  on  the  Strasburg  Road  toward  Edgemont.  He  had 
the  boys'  guns  strapped  securely  to  his  own  saddle.  At 


212  SANDY  FLASH 

the  crossways  by  the  Providence  lane,  they  parted, 
Dougherty  turning  south,  bent  upon  regaining  the  town 
by  roundabout  ways  and  by-paths,  Flash  riding  speedily 
north  toward  White  Horse  Hill.  He,  too,  soon  left  the 
traveled  road  and  took  to  the  fields.  Before  doing  so, 
however,  he  turned  loose  the  led  horse  and  sent  it  gallop- 
ing still  further  northward.  When  the  pursuers  had  come 
upon  the  trail,  they  would  find  two  horses  headed  toward 
the  Valley.  That  might  give  them  a  wrong  start,  anyway. 
As  to  Sandy  Flash,  he  would  be  safe  on  his  way  to  Newlin 
or  Marlborough  in  the  west  long  before  the  sun  was  up. 
If  pushed  by  ill  chance,  he  could  go  on  as  far  as  London- 
derry, where  no  one  would  dream  of  running  him  down. 

This  was  all  unknown  to  the  keeper  of  the  Pratt  House 
tavern,  of  course,  so  the  man  did  what  he  could  and 
called  in  the  neighbors.  It  was  their  voices  which  had 
aroused  Dave  and  Bob  in  the  morning.  There  were  many 
plans  of  what  should  be  done  first,  but  the  innkeeper 
wisely  put  an  end  to  vain  jangling  by  taking  command 
himself.  He  assigned  to  the  courier  the  task  of  guarding 
the  gold  where  it  was  until  he  should  come  back.  Par- 
ticularly, he  forbade  mention  of  its  hiding  place  being 
made  to  any  one.  Then  he  saw  that  they  all  had  a  snatch 
of  breakfast  and  a  piping  hot  dish  of  tea.  This  was  to 
be  a  hunt  from  dawn  to  dark  and  he  wanted  no  one  fall- 
ing out  before  they  had  run  their  quarry  to  a  kill.  Last 
of  all,  he  borrowed  mounts  for  Dave  and  Bob.  He  looked 
dubiously  at  the  latter's  shoulder.  The  wound  was 
swollen  and  angry,  for  all  its  being  but  a  flesh  scratch. 

"Lad,  that's  bad,  powerful  bad.  You'd  better  have  it 
done  up  properly  before  the  poison  gets  hold  of  it.  Your 


THE  LOST  TRAIL  213 

father  knows  well  how  to  fix  it.  It's  no  shape  for  riding 
all  day  and  that's  what  we're  like  to  do." 

"I'll  have  it  done  up  right,  soon  as  ever  I  get  me  home," 
Bob  answered.  "Dave  and  I've  got  to  go  along  with  you 
far  as  the  cave,  you  know,  or  you'd  never  find  the  way  in. 
Then  we'll  go  on  to  the  Rose  Tree  with  the  word  of  what 
happened.  Father'll  come  out  and  Hugh  Thomas.  Lots 
of  'em.  They  can  ride  fast  and  catch  up  with  the  rest  of 
you.  I'm  all  right!" 

The  boy  was  game. 

Soon  the  cavalcade  was  ready  to  start.  There  were 
over  a  dozen  men  in  the  posse  from  near-by  farms,  all 
armed  with  guns  or  pistols.  They  felt  that  they  were  too 
late  to  do  any  good,  but  it  seemed  the  only  course  left 
open.  The  innkeeper  explained  that  it  was  after  mid- 
night when  the  attack  had  occurred  and  that  it  would 
have  been  foolhardy  to  try  and  get  word  to  them  any 
sooner  than  he  had.  He  had  need  of  all  his  little  force  to 
guard  the  doors  and  windows,  with  a  prospect  of  the  rush 
on  the  tavern  taking  place  at  any  moment.  Knowing 
Sandy  Flash,  the  men  agreed  with  him. 

The  boys  led  the  way  with  the  warlike  innkeeper  along- 
side, as  they  turned  from  the  inn.  At  the  end  of  Brook's 
Wood,  where  the  Goshen  Road  dips  to  Echo  Valley  on 
the  right,  they  could  see  plainly  how  the  other  horseman 
had  sunk  the  hill,  galloping  hard.  Five  minutes  after- 
wards their  worst  anxieties  were  confirmed  by  sight  of 
the  looted  body  lying  stark  and  cold,  face  upward  in  the 
ditch.  It  was  close  by  the  thicket  at  Crum  Creek  ford 
where  the  Boot  Road  runs  in  from  the  southeast.  They 
covered  the  murdered  patriot  with  a  horse  cloth  and  hur- 


214  SANDY  FLASH 

ried  southerly  through  the  ravine.  The  boys  pointed  ex- 
citedly to  fresh  hoofprints,  as  they  went.  A  tight-lipped, 
silent  group  of  men  surrounded  the  cave  on  Castle  Rock, 
working  in  upon  it  like  skirmishers  under  the  guidance  of 
Dave  and  Bob.  The  tavern  keeper  was  the  first  to  enter 
the  cavern  itself.  He  claimed  it  as  his  due,  being  an  old 
soldier,  trained  to  danger. 

The  place  was  cold  and  deserted.  The  only  signs  they 
found  to  tell  of  the  recent  occupancy  were  ashes  on  the 
hearthstone  and  a  lost  spur  by  the  entrance.  Flash  had 
dropped  it  as  he  hurried  out.  The  landlord  tossed  it 
angrily  aside  amid  the  rubbish. 

The  posse  had  soon  remounted  on  the  run  and  picked 
up  the  tracks  again  in  the  lane  below.  They  followed 
them  with  little  trouble  to  the  Providence  Road  and  saw 
the  parting  there.  So  far  all  was  clear  as  a  printed  page. 
The  men  split  without  loss  of  time,  one  group  galloping 
north  toward  White  Horse,  the  other  south  toward  Blue 
Hill  and  Rose  Tree  corner.  The  boys  were  with  the  lat- 
ter. It  was  the  next  day  before  they  heard  of  the  failure 
of  the  north-bound  riders.  Of  the  two  trails  in  that  direc- 
tion, one  lost  itself  in  a  clever  loop  by  a  shallow  stream. 
The  dead  courier's  horse  ended  the  other  in  a  White 
Horse  barn  whither  it  had  wandered  in  search  of  warmth. 
With  the  boys'  party,  there  was  luck  as  bad.  They  fol- 
lowed Dougherty's  tracks  readily  enough  for  a  mile  or  so, 
then  missed  them  in  a  field  where  the  snow  had  blown 
clear.  Though  they  picked  up  the  line  further  on,  the 
hoofprints  soon  merged  with  others  in  the  churned  slush 
of  a  traveled  road.  It  was  quite  useless  to  waste  more 
time  over  them  and  the  disheartened  posse  broke  up. 


THE  LOST  TRAIL  215 

Dougherty  might  well  be  in  Bethel  or  Lower  Chichester 
by  now,  for  all  they  could  tell.  After  all,  the  gold  was 
safe  and  that  was  the  main  thing.  The  boys  were  largely 
responsible  for  it,  too.  Their  escape  from  the  cave  and 
warning  of  Flash  in  the  countryside  had  undoubtedly 
spared  the  tavern  from  attack. 

Dave  and  Bob  pulled  out  when  the  posse  halted,  and 
gave  their  reins  to  a  man  who  kindly  offered  to  lead  their 
mounts  back  to  the  Pratt  House  for  them.  They  were 
already  within  easy  walking  distance  of  home  and  eager 
to  reach  there  as  soon  as  they  could  to  reassure  their  par- 
ents. The  lads  thanked  the  man  and  cut  away  across  the 
fields.  Each  was  too  worn  with  the  events  of  the  last  day 
and  night  to  appreciate  just  what  they  had  been  through, 
yet  under  all  their  exhaustion,  was  a  feeling  that  they  had 
played  the  game  about  as  well  as  the  next.  Bob  spoke 
first,  as  he  eased  the  bandage  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  say,  that  stag  hunt  didn't  fetch  much  venison  for 
us,  Dave,  did  it?  But  it  sure  gave  us  a  taste  of  most 
everything  else!  Seems  as  though  we'd  been  fighting  bat- 
tles fur  a  week  and  had  an  Indian  massacre  in  the  bar- 
gain! And  only  a  scratched  arm  to  show  for  it!"  He 
laughed  a  little  ruefully.  "Flash  and  the  rest  are  far 
away  as  Christmas  pudding  now,  but  the  poor  soldier  back 
there  is  lying  dead  by  the  ford  with  a — " 

"Yes,  but  we  did  do  some  good,  Bob.  Don't  forget  the 
gold.  They'd  have  it  with  'em  now,  sure  as  shooting,  if 
we  hadn't  warned  'em  at  the  Pratt!" 

"Warned  'em!  We  got  there  when  the  damage  was 
done,  I'd  say!"  Bob  recalled  their  desperate  efforts  to 
climb  the  Newtown  Hill  in  time.  "Two  minutes  sooner 


2i6  SANDY  FLASH 

and  we  might  have  saved  the  man's  life.  Oh,  well,  the 
gold's  all  right.  That  is  something,  after  all,  I  suppose. 
And  they've  gotten  that  rascal  Torley  where  they  want 
him.  Gotten  him  good  and  tight!  Reckon  they'll  hang 
him,  too.  We  were  lucky,  right  lucky  to  save  our  skins!" 
It  was  true,  they  were  lucky  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XI 
SIGNAL  HILL 

A  TALE  it  was,  the  lads  had  to  tell  their  parents  an 
hour  later,  when  they  reached  their  respective 
homes.  Dave  came  to  his  farm  by  the  Rose  Tree  first 
and  asked  his  companion  to  bide  for  dinner,  but  Bob 
shook  his  head  and  plodded  on  across  fields  to  Sycamore 
Mills.  The  older  boy  was  weary  enough  to  rest  a  while, 
but  he  knew  that  his  mother  would  be  anxious.  Perhaps 
already  some  rumor  of  the  night's  excitement  might  have 
reached  her.  He  kept  on  and  came  to  his  own  home  as 
soon  as  he  could.  The  boys  were  exhausted,  more  than 
they  had  ever  been  in  their  lives,  but  a  hearty  meal  and  a 
good  night's  rest  did  wonders  to  refresh  them.  They  had 
passed  through  an  ordeal  with  Sandy  Flash  that  might 
well  have  shaken  the  nerve  of  any  one,  but  they  appeared 
little  the  worse  for  it.  After  all,  their  outdoor  life,  their 
constant  exercise  in  work  about  the  farms,  their  clean, 
wholesome  way  of  looking  at  things,  these  had  done  much 
to  harden  their  powers  of  resistance  and  recovery. 

Bob's  arm  gave  trouble  for  a  day  or  two,  paining  him 
mostly  at  night,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  then  under  his  mother's 
skilful  nursing,  it  healed  rapidly  and  with  no  infection. 
The  woman  knew  the  value  of  cleanliness  in  dealing  with 
such  hurts  and  every  bit  of  bandage  that  she  put  upon  it 
was  made  of  the  whitest  lint,  boiled  and  reboiled  before 
use.  Her  care  in  this  little  detail  probably  saved  her  son 

217 


218  SANDY  FLASH 

a  good  deal  more  suffering  and  risk  of  danger  than  he 
realized  at  the  time.  It  was  only  later  on,  when  he  had 
had  more  experience  with  such  things  that  he  came  to  un- 
derstand the  unspeakable  ravages  that  often  followed  im- 
proper treatment.  Bob  Allyn,  like  other  boys  of  his  time, 
picked  up  a  lot  of  useful  knowledge  this  way  from  the 
practical  application  of  it  in  every  day  affairs.  He  did 
not  always  know  the  why  of  things,  any  more  than  did 
his  elders,  but  he  did  know  that  certain  things  worked 
out  for  the  best,  while  others  did  not. 

The  day  after  the  murder  of  the  courier  and  the  escape 
of  Sandy  Flash,  the  entire  countryside  was  combed  as  it 
had  never  been  before  in  an  effort  to  come  upon  some 
trace  of  the  outlaw  or  his  accomplice.  Men  rode  the 
lanes  and  the  woodland  rides  from  Middletown  to  Con- 
cord in  search  of  hoofprints;  they  gathered  at  every  cross- 
road and  tavern,  vainly  hoping  some  favorable  hint  or 
clue  might  appear.  Springfield,  Aston,  even  distant 
Thornbury  and  Haverford  joined  in.  But  nothing  came 
of  it.  A  troop  of  Light  Horse  galloped  over  from  Signal 
Hill  in  Easttown  to  help  in  the  search.  It  was  under  the 
command  of  Harry  Lee,  the  clever  cavalryman  from  Vir- 
ginia who  had  already  given  Colonel  Tarleton  many  a 
sharp  brush  for  his  pains  in  trying  to  corner  him.  The 
boys  took  the  coming  of  the  troopers  with  delight  and  did 
all  that  they  could  think  of  to  show  them  the  hidden  by- 
paths, but  it  did  no  good.  As  he  rode  off  toward  the 
north,  Lee  called  back  his  thanks,  urging  the  lads  to  slip 
over  some  day  to  his  station  on  the  high  ground  beyond 
Old  St.  David's,  if  they  cared  to  see  what  an  army  out- 
post looked  like.  They  promised  eagerly  to  do  so. 


SIGNAL  HILL  219 

By  the  end  of  the  week,  the  good  folk  of  Edgemont  and 
upper  Providence  had  given  up  hope  of  ever  apprehend- 
ing the  lawbreakers.  Calm  returned  to  the  countryside. 
The  story  of  the  gold  leaked  out  shortly  afterwards  and 
that  caused  another  stir,  but  meanwhile  it  had  been  spir- 
ited away  in  safety  by  the  troopers.  Report  of  its  ar- 
rival near  Head  of  Elk,  far  south  by  the  Maryland  bor- 
der, came  to  the  landlord  at  the  Square  about  a  week  later 
and  he  in  turn  passed  the  good  word  on  to  Dave  and  Bob, 
Of  Sandy  Flash,  not  the  least  vestige  was  found.  He  had 
simply  vanished  from  the  county.  Moses  Doan,  the  town 
accomplice,  fled  to  the  neighborhood  of  Bucks,  where  he 
contrived  to  shake  off  his  pursuers  and  disappear.  Mor- 
decai  Dougherty  went  with  him,  or  at  least  this  was  gen- 
erally so  rumored.  The  boys,  content  that  the  trouble  had 
passed,  so  far  as  they  were  concerned,  turned  again  to 
their  trapping  with  more  zeal  than  ever.  Wisely  they  de- 
cided that  it  was  the  most  important  bit  of  work  they 
could  do  in  spare  time  while  winter  lasted  and  pelts  stayed 
prime.  They  now  followed  it  with  system,  extending 
their  line  of  sets  beyond  Hunting  Hill,  far  up  Ridley, 
almost  to  the  forks  at  Goshen  Meeting. 

The  possibility  of  encountering  the  outlaws  again  did 
not  cast  a  moment's  shadow  over  the  lads'  minds.  It  was 
as  well  for  them  that  the  circumstances  attending  their 
final  meeting  lay  hidden  in  the  future,  unknown,  unfeared. 
Meanwhile,  the  trapping  held  them,  fascinated  them,  as 
luck  came  each  day  and  the  year  drew  on  toward  its  close. 
The  winter  snows  helped  them  considerably,  piling  deep 
in  the  valleys.  Farm  chores  were  not  forgotten  or  allowed 
to  suffer,  for  all  the  time  they  gave  to  the  woods.  Each 


220  SANDY  FLASH 

knew  that  he  was  a  part  of  the  home  team  and  did  his 
share  accordingly  in  pulling  the  load.  Had  it  not  been 
for  their  lost  flintlocks,  they  might  have  forgotten  Flash 
altogether. 

One  cold  day  in  January  saw  the  two  of  them  riding 
northward  on  the  Providence  Road,  bound  for  Lee's  out- 
post at  Signal  Hill  in  Easttown.  It  was  a  good  morning's 
jaunt  away,  but  they  had  started  early  and  hoped  to  look 
over  a  few  of  their  traps  as  they  passed  by.  The  winter 
had  come  on  in  earnest  now  and  the  bitter  weather  was 
giving  them  some  of  the  best  primed  skins  of  the  year. 
Good  luck  had  been  with  them  and  many  a  sleek  warm 
pelt  they  had  carried  home  in  triumph  since  their  first  at- 
tempt with  the  coon  traps  back  in  December.  To-day,  a 
great  roll  of  these  skins  had  been  strapped  securely  to 
the  cantles  of  their  saddles.  They  were  the  reward  of  two 
months'  toil — fur  mittens,  fur  caps  with  heavy  ear  tabs, 
fur  mufflers,  snug  and  soft — all  made  up  into  shape  from 
the  pelts  Dave  and  Bob  had  carried  home.  Mistress 
Thomas  and  Bob  Allyn's  mother  had  worked  on  them  to- 
gether, taking  turns  in  coming  over  to  each  other's  house 
of  an  afternoon,  when  they  had  the  chance.  Now  the  furs 
were  ready  to  be  worn  by  the  soldiers  who  stood  so  bit- 
terly in  need  of  them.  Light-Horse  Harry  Lee's  com- 
mand was  the  first  to  receive  any. 

"I  say,  Dave,  this  looks  a  bit  more  like  being  of  use, 
doesn't  it?  I'll  bet  they'll  be  glad  to  get  'em!  It's  been 
the  finest  kind  of  fun  trapping  'em,  too.  We've  both 
had—" 

"They  surely  will  be  glad.    It's  a  terrible  sight  across 


SIGNAL  HILL  221 

the  Valley  where  the  main  lot  of  the  troops  are.  They've 
got  a  camp  there  on  that  big  hill  near  the  Mountjoy 
Forge.  Father  went  over  last  week.  He  says  it's  about 
all  they  have  got!  No  shoes,  lots  of  'em!  Hardly  any 
food!  Not  much  of  anything,  'cept  some  log  huts.  It's 
cold  enough  here  in  Providence  with  all  the  clothes  we 
need,  but  over  there  on  those  bare  hills — whee!" 

"Yes,  it's  awful  for  'em.  With  the  people  like  Flash 
making  it  all  the  worse,  that's  what  makes  me  the  most 
mad.  I  wish  they'd  gotten  him,  when  he  was  here  in  our 
country!  Oh,  well,  we're  doing  what  we  can  to  help. 
It's  a  fine  lot  of  furs  we've  trapped  for  'em  here,  even  if 
they  are  rough  and  readymade.  And  we'll  have  plenty 
more  by  the  time  the  winter's  out,  never  fear.  Seems  to 
me  we've  done  about  as  good  this  year  as  any  one.  And 
it's  only — " 

"It's  still  January,"  Dave  finished  the  sentence  for 
him.  "Lucky  we've  been  and  lucky  we'll  be." 

"Yes,  that's  just  how  I  feel  about  it.  There's  skunk 
and  coon  and —  Bob  began  to  check  off  the  list  of  game 
on  his  fingers,  but  Dave  again  broke  in. 

"And  muskrats.  Don't  forget  all  of  them  we've  caught! 
And  the  rabbits,  that  makes  four  kinds.  Then  there's  the 
minks  and  the  weasels.  Plenty  of  weasels,  when  we  didn't 
want  'em."  He  whistled  a  bar  of  "Pop!  Goes  the 
Weasel." 

"It's  a  real  year  for  us!  You're  right,  Dave.  Most 
everything  we  tried  for  'cept  beaver  and  the  big  otter. 
He's  haunted!" 

"Thought  you  were  sure  to  catch  him  with  a  scheme  of 


222  SANDY  FLASH 

your  own?"  Dave  grinned  slyly.  "That  otter!  Haven't 
heard  so  much  about  it  lately.  Salt  for  his  tail  give  out 
or  what?" 

"Haven't  tried  that  yet,  Dave!  Saving  it  up  for  the 
last.  The  winter's  not  over,  you  know.  Don't  begin 
crowing  too  soon.  As  it  is,  I've  gotten  most  as  many  pelts 
as  you.  And  I  found  the  beaver  dam,  first,  at  that! "  Bob 
could  not  keep  the  triumph  from  his  voice  as  he  recalled 
the  discovery  of  the  pool  in  Crum  the  afternoon  they  had 
been  captured  by  Sandy  Flash  and  Dougherty.  "I  saw 
that  pond  first,  mind,  and  I  put  the  first  set  in  it,  too!" 

"Yes,  you  did.  But  you  never  got  a  beaver!"  Dave 
laughed.  "You  weren't  even  sure  that  beaver  were  there 
till  we  went  back  together  that  other  day  and  I  showed 
you  the  four-toed  tracks  they'd  gone  and  made  in  the 
mud.  You'd  have  put  it  down  as  muskrats,  I'll  bet. 
Tessup!" 

"We'll  get  one  of  'em  yet,  never  you  worry.  The  main 
thing  was  to  find  the  pool.  And  I  knew  perfectly  well 
that  beaver 'd  made  it.  I  saw  where  they'd  crawled  up 
and  gnawed  the  birches  and  the  popple."  Bob  was  big 
and  good  natured  enough  to  let  the  younger  boy  carry  on 
the  fun  at  his  expense,  but  he  knew  the  beaver  find  was 
his  credit,  none  the  less. 

"Maybe  you  did.  I  was  only  joking.  Reckon  we'll 
get  all  we  want  if  we  set  traps  there  long  enough,  but  the 
big  otter's  the  main  thing.  You  were  so  cock  sure  of  get- 
ting it  that  I  thought  you  really  had  a  plan  all  ready  to 
try.  Something  new!  I'd  rather  get  that  same  old  otter 
than  most  anything  else  in  the  county!" 

"So  would  I,  Dave.    And  I'm  not  through  going  for 


SIGNAL  HILL  223 

him,  either,"  Bob  stopped  speaking  with  a  cough.    It  did 
not  ring  quite  true,  but  Dave  gave  scant  heed. 

"What  do  you  aim  to  try  this  time?"  Young  Thomas 
glanced  at  his  companion,  eager  to  hear  more,  but  Bob 
had  no  intention  of  giving  away  his  scheme. 

"See  there?"  Allyn  suddenly  drew  rein  and  pointed  to 
an  ancient  apple  tree  by  the  wayside.  Its  gnarled  and 
slanting  trunk  bore  witness  to  the  storms  it  had  weathered 
in  winters  past.  "I  say,  Dave,  did  you  ever  happen  to 
hear  how  this  old  road  through  Upper  and  Nether  Provi- 
dence came  to  be  planted  with  those  apple  trees  every 
mile,  all  the  way  from  Edgemont  down  to  Chester.  That's 
one  of  'em  there.  Bet  you  never  heard  how,  for  all  the 
old-time  things  you're  full  of!" 

"Never  did,  Bob.  Always  thought  they  just  naturally 
sort  of  grew  here.  Didn't  they?" 

"Give  me  an  orchard  like  'em,  if  they  did.  No,  sireel 
Not  those  pippins.  There  was  a  surveyor  named  Henry 
Hollingsworth,  way  back  in  1687,  nearly  a  hundred  years 
ago.  And  he  put  all  these  trees  out  when  he  made  the 
Providence  Road,  every  one  of  'em.  Father  told  me  once 
that  when  he  was  a  boy,  they  were  most  all  of  'em  stand- 
ing. Hollingsworth  told  his  friends  in  England  that  he'd 
planted  an  orchard  in  the  Province  over  nine  miles  long!" 

Bob  Allyn  saw  that  he  had  led  his  comrade  success- 
fully away  from  thoughts  of  the  otter.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Dave  had  guessed  aright.  The  big  lad  was  working 
even  now  on  a  new  plan  of  his  own  to  take  the  lord  of  the 
pool  in  face  of  every  discouragement  that  had  come  to  his 
efforts  hitherto.  So  it  was  that  he  took  no  great  relish  in 
being  made  the  butt  of  the  other's  jesting.  Neither  did 


224  SANDY  FLASH 

he  care  to  have  Dave  inquire  too  deeply  as  to  the  manner 
in  which  he  proposed  to  go  about  trapping  it.  He  wanted 
to  try  out  his  plan  first,  then  surprise  his  chum.  Young 
Allyn  was  a  good  deal  better  woodsman  of  late  than  he 
had  let  the  other  suspect.  He  had  the  knack  and  the 
training  to  remember  odds  and  ends  that  came  to  him 
day  by  day. 

"I  guess  he  had  one  that  long  if  he  set  out  all  these 
trees  himself!  Nine  miles!  Crickets!"  Dave  laughed. 
"Whoa,  there,  Bob!  Wait  a  second!  We're  past  Blue 
Hill  and  I  most  forgot  the  traps  down  this  end  of  Ridley. 
We'd  best—" 

"Think  we've  time  to  look  'em  over?  It's  quite  a  way 
from  here  to  Signal  Hill,  'you  know.  We've  come  slow. 
Still  I  reckon  we  can  do  it.  It's  early.  Lead  the  horses 
round  to  meet  me  on  the  other  road,  will  you,  and  I'll 
jog  through  the  woods  on  foot.  In  a  jiffy,  too!  Keep 
'em  out  of  the  wind,  if  you  have  to  wait.  Mind  they 
don't  chill!" 

Bob  slid  from  the  saddle,  as  his  friend  drew  in.  Then 
he  tossed  his  reins  to  Dave  and  unfastened  a  gun  from 
the  side  of  the  pummel  where  he  had  made  an  ingenious 
boot  to  hold  it.  The  piece  was  an  old,  though  serviceable, 
weapon  of  his  father's. 

"Reckon  I  won't  find  much.  It's  getting  on  in  winter 
now,  and  they're  foxy  as  can  be  down  this  end  of  the 
stream  where  we've  trapped  so  regular,  right  along.  Take 
the  horses  easy,  and  you  won't  have  to  wait  long.  I'll 
hurry.  Thanks!" 

Bob  climbed  over  the  wayside  wall  and  jogged  down 


SIGNAL  HILL  225 

the  slope  toward  Hunting  Hill.  He  was  fit  now  as  ever  in 
his  life  and  the  pace  he  set  scarcely  winded  him.  His 
guess  as  to  luck  proved  near  to  the  mark.  A  muskrat  and 
a  skunk  were  all  the  sets  had  to  offer  by  way  of  game. 
One  trap  did  hold  a  weasel,  but  the  animal's  skin  had  been 
so  badly  torn  as  to  be  worthless.  The  skunk  was  not 
large,  though  vicious  to  a  degree,  and  Bob  paid  the  pen- 
alty of  haste.  He  could  easily  have  shot  the  animal  dead 
without  half  aiming,  but  between  disappointment  at  the 
small  catch  and  his  eagerness  to  get  forward  to  rejoin  his 
companion  further  up  stream,  he  only  succeeded  in 
wounding  it.  Before  the  second  slug  put  an  end  to  its 
fighting,  he  had  gotten  an  ample  dose  of  scent  on  his  leg- 
gins.  The  big  boy  grinned  sheepishly  to  himself.  He  had 
given  way  to  temper  and  he  knew  it.  That  would  mean 
another  joke  for  Dave.  Shouldering  the  flintlock,  he 
trudged  toward  the  road  with  a  wry  face. 

As  he  hurried  on,  alert  for  any  sign  of  tracks,  he  noted 
the  depth  of  ice  by  the  shore.  It  was  a  wonder  that  he 
had  found  anything  in  the  land  sets  during  such  a  biting 
spell  of  weather.  The  wild  life  of  the  wood  were  wont  to 
take  refuge  from  such  a  frost  deep  in  their  holes  and 
dens,  until  hunger  itself  drove  them  out  in  search  of  ra- 
tions. Bob  snuggled  his  muffler,  high  about  his  ears,  and 
hastened  along.  Dave  would  be  getting  restless  the  next 
thing,  having  to  hold  the  horses  this  long.  Besides,  there 
was  always  the  risk  of  cold  for  them.  Bob  Allyn  was  a 
horseman  before  all  else,  and  he  never  fully  forgot  it, 
even  when  deep  in  the  lure  of  his  traps. 

However,  he  need  not  have  worried,  for  when  he  did 


226  SANDY  FLASH 

come  out  on  the  Strasburg  Road,  he  found  Dave  waiting 
for  him  in  the  shelter  of  a  cedar  grove.  The  lad  waved 
a  welcome  and  asked  of  their  luck. 

"Not  much  to  boast  of,  Dave,  and  that's  about  the  best 
I  can  say  for  it.  A  skunk  that's  mighty  small  and  a  musk- 
rat.  Oh,  and  I  forgot,  there  was  a  weasel,  too,  but  it  was 
all  chawed  up.  I  left  it  back  there  by  the  creek.  No 
good." 

"Where're  the  others?"  Dave  led  the  horses  out  into 
the  road  preparatory  to  mounting.  "Got  'em?" 

"Yes,  here,"  Bob  Allyn  held  up  the  trophies.  "See, 
the  rat  isn't  half  bad.  Make  a  nice  bit  of  pelt  at  that. 
What  do  you  say  if  we  skin  'em  right  now  and  take  'em 
over  to  Signal  Hill  with  the  ones  we've  already  made  up?" 
He  reached  for  the  long  knife  that  hung  from  his  belt  in  a 
leather  sheath. 

Dave,  glancing  at  the  sun,  saw  that  it  was  still  quite 
early  in  the  morning  and  that  there  would  be  ample  time 
to  reach  Lee's  men  by  noon.  He  turned  the  horses  back 
to  the  shelter  of  the  cedars  and  tethered  them  there. 
Then  he  crossed  the  road  to  help  his  friend.  Both  boys 
had  had  so  much  practice  at  the  job  that  a  few  moments 
sufficed  to  peel  the  skins  from  the  muskrat  and  the  skunk. 
Throwing  the  offal  over  the  fence,  they  tied  the  new  hides 
to  the  other  furs,  then  swung  to  saddle.  Cheerily  urging 
the  horses  to  a  trot,  they  moved  swiftly  off  toward  New- 
town  Square  and  the  road  north. 

The  going  was  splendid.  Just  a  nice  coating  of  snow, 
dry  so  that  it  did  not  ball  up  in  the  horses'  feet.  Turn- 
ing to  the  right  at  Paper  Mill  Lane,  they  left  the  New- 
town  Road  arid  dropped  to  Darby  Creek  close  by  the 


SIGNAL  HILL  227 

Township  of  Radnor.  Here  they  came  into  an  ancient 
highway  laid  out  in  the  days  of  the  Penns.  A  level 
stretch  of  it,  the  Darby  Road,  ran  westward  through  the 
woods  and  fields  of  Happy  Creek.  The  temptation  was 
too  great  for  the  boys  to  resist.  With  a  shout  of  challenge, 
Bob  clipped  heels  to  his  horse's  sides  and  plunged  ahead, 
just  as  they  passed  the  Church  of  Old  St.  David's.  Dave 
was  behind  him  like  a  flash,  eager  to  share  in  the  race  that 
lay  before  them.  The  heavy  bundles  were  forgotten  as 
was  the  long  ride  they  had  come  that  morning,  but  the 
mounts  they  bestrode  had  taken  it  easy  and  so  entered 
into  the  sport  of  the  gallop  with  quite  as  much  flash  as 
the  boys  in  the  saddles. 

Perhaps  three-quarters  of  a  mile  they  went  at  speed, 
the  keen  wind  whipping  their  cheeks  to  scarlet  before  the 
road  began  to  swing  to  the  right  and  dropped  sharply 
downward.  That  would  have  ended  the  race,  for  a  little 
ford  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  but  Dave's  bundle  of  furs 
broke  loose  from  its  fastenings  before  they  reached  water. 
Panting  and  laughing,  he  pulled  up,  while  Bob,  with  the 
hands  of  the  born  horseman,  lightly  eased  his  own  mount 
from  gallop  to  canter  and  canter  to  trot.  Then  gently 
playing  the  reins,  as  the  animal  reached  at  the  bits,  he 
came  to  a  halt.  The  furs  luckily  had  not  scattered,  so  a 
few  moments  were  enough  to  replace  them  on  the  cantle. 
The  boys  rode  on  more  leisurely,  breathing  their  horses  as 
they  started  up  the  gentle  slope  of  Signal  Hill. 

"The  first  mile  out  and  the  last  mile  in,  you  know, 
Dave,"  said  Bob,  patting  his  mount's  sleek  neck.  "That's 
a  great  rule  for  keeping  horses  fit.  If  you  begin  with  'em 
easy  when  they're  cold  from  the  stable,  they'll  carry 


228  SANDY  FLASH 

you  far.  Then  when  you're  coming  back  again  it's  just 
as  much  to  remember.  Never  bring  a  horse  to  stall  hot  or 
winded  if  you  can  help  it.  We  don't  over  at  our  place 
and  that's  why  we  can  sell  'em  so  well  to  the  folks  who 
want  light  ones  for  riding.  Ours  are  fit  as  fiddles  from 
the  time  they're  foaled.  It's  only  a  few  little  things  like 
that  which  keeps  'em  so.  Look,  yonder's  the  house  where 
Lee  said  he  was  stationed.  I  thought  there'd  be  a  fort 
or  something  round  the  top  of  the  hill!  There's  not  a 
thing!"  Bob's  voice  was  full  of  disappointment. 

"They've  gone  away  and  left  the  place.  Else  we'd  see 
a  flag.  They'd  surely  fly  one,  wouldn't  they?  That's  it. 
They're  left.  The  ride's  all  for  nothing."  Dave  scanned 
the  hill  before  them,  but  no  sign  of  military  bivouac  such 
as  they  had  imagined  was  to  be  seen.  "We  might  push 
on  across  Tredyffrin,"  he  continued,  "and  give  the  fur 
things  to  the  soldiers  at  Valley  Forge.  I  know  the  way  all 
right.  There's  a  little  lane  that  runs  straight  across  from 
here.  We  could  make  it  in  time.  I  once  went  there  with 
father  a  long  time  ago  and  we  passed  right  by  here  some- 
wheres." 

However,  the  lads  could  have  saved  themselves  any 
bother  as  to  the  need  for  a  longer  ride.  The  farmhouse 
on  Signal  Hill  was  still  the  outpost  of  Light-Horse  Harry 
in  spite  of  its  peaceful,  unfortified  appearance.  As 
they  rode  closer,  a  guard  challenged  from  a  little  hut  or 
shelter  of  boughs  craftily  hidden  in  the  side  of  the  road. 
There  was  considerable  confusion  on  the  part  of  Dave 
and  Bob  when  they  realized  that  they  had  been  under  ob- 
servance for  the  last  mile  or  more.  The  boys  were  ques- 
tioned, but  evidently  they  were  known  by  their  errand, 


SIGNAL  HILL  229 

for  the  sentry  soon  passed  them  along  toward  the  house 
where  Lee  himself  welcomed  them.  Then  it  was  that  they 
received  the  surprise  of  their  life,  news  that  made  them 
bitter  at  the  thought  of  what  they  had  missed  by  so  nar- 
row a  margin. 

Only  two  or  three  days  before  a  fight  had  occurred 
about  that  same  old  building — a  skirmish  that  promised 
fair  to  develop  into  a  pitched  battle  before  it  had  ended. 
Lee  chuckled  as  he  led  the  boys  about  the  rooms  inside 
and  pointed  out  to  them  his  system  of  defense,  his  barri- 
caded doors  and  loop-holed  windows,  his  look-out  high 
in  the  roof.  The  officer  modestly  turned  the  whole  thing 
off  as  more  or  less  of  a  joke,  but  even  the  untrained  boys 
quickly  realized  the  gallantry  and  the  courage  that  had 
directed  the  fighting. 

Colonel  Tarleton,  it  appeared,  with  some  two  hundred 
hostile  dragoons  had  slipped  up  close  to  Signal  Hill  early 
in  the  morning.  He  was  bent  primarily  upon  foraging  and 
plundering  the  countryside  of  Easttown  and  Radnor,  but 
getting  word  of  the  outpost  on  the  high  ground,  and  see- 
ing at  once  its  strategic  importance  with  regard  to  the 
main  body  of  the  army  at  Valley  Forge,  he  had  determined 
to  rush  the  place,  off  hand,  and  take  it  by  surprise  or 
storm.  A  Tory  had  told  him  that  Lee  was  there  with  a 
mere  handful  of  men,  some  fourteen  troopers  of  the  Light 
Horse.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  only  eight  were  available 
that  morning.  The  Virginian's  position  was  simply  a  link 
in  the  line  of  outguards  and  signal  posts  that  were  swung 
in  a  great  circle  round  to  Gulph  Mills  and  the  river  be- 
yond Rebel  Hill.  There  was  no  intention  of  making  the 
place  into  a  holding  position.  Tarleton  had  misjudged  his 


230  SANDY  FLASH 

man,  however,  for  when  his  cavalry  had  broken  from  the 
shelter  of  the  forest  and  charged  up  the  slope  to  the  house, 
they  were  met  with  a  volley  of  shots  that  told  of  prepara- 
tion inside. 

All  that  January  day  the  fight  had  gone  on,  the  odds  of 
the  thing  almost  beyond  belief.  Two  hundred  well-armed 
cavalrymen  outside  against  eight  men  inside.  It  was  not 
as  though  the  dragoons  had  to  attack  entirely  in  the  open 
either,  for  the  slope  of  the  hill  was  covered  here  and  there 
with  clumps  of  trees  and  bushes  that  would  have  afforded 
the  best  of  cover  to  the  men,  had  they  the  least  idea  of 
how  to  avail  themselves  of  it.  Again  and  again  the  sol- 
diers under  Tarleton  had  tried  to  rush  the  house,  to  set 
flame  to  the  stable,  to  concentrate  a  killing  fire  on  the 
shutters  of  the  windows,  but  their  bright  uniforms  made 
them  too  good  a  mark  for  comfort.  Lee  had  his  Vir- 
ginians placed  well;  they  all  knew  how  to  shoot.  Late  in 
the  afternoon,  as  dusk  crept  up  from  the  misty  pool  in 
the  meadow  below,  things  began  to  look  bad  for  the  de- 
fenders. Powder  ran  low.  Just  in  time,  relief  had 
come. 

"Yes,  I  thought  they'd  gotten  us  then,  for  sure,"  laughed 
Lee,  as  he  helped  Dave  undo  one  of  the  bundles  so  that 
he  could  examine  the  fur  caps  and  mufflers  his  men  needed 
so  badly.  "It  was  half  dark  outside  and  we  couldn't  see 
'em  well  as  they  crept  up.  The  funny  part  of  it  all  was 
that  they  waited  till  the  day  was  over  before  they  really 
began  to  attack  like  they  should  have  done  in  the  very 
first  place." 

"How?"  said  Bob.  "How  ought  they  to  have  fought?" 
He  ripped  apart  the  second  bundle.  "Under  cover?" 


SIGNAL  HILL  231 

"Why,  yes,  naturally!  They  could  have  crept  up  close 
and  picked  off  the  whole  eight  of  us  in  half  an  hour,  if 
they'd  used  any  sense  about  it.  The  trouble  is  when 
Tarleton  and  his  like  begin  to  fight,  they're  brave  as  lions 
and  they  fight  fairly  enough,  but  their  poor  muddled 
heads  are  too  full  of  what  the  drill  masters  say.  It  all 
must  be  done  just  so.  Or  it's  wrong.  This  time  it  was 
wrong  for  'em,  all  right,  as  reinforcements  reached  us 
from  the  army  in  time.  Colonel  Stevens  came  with  'em 
all  the  way  from  the  Forge  near  Mount  Misery  or  what- 
ever they  call  it.  Heard  the  firing,  they  say." 

"To  think  that  we  missed  it  by  a  couple  of  days!" 
Bob  grinned,  but  his  heart  was  sore.  The  boy  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  that  he  was  quite  big  enough  to  have  some 
share  in  the  fighting,  if  it  came  as  close  to  home  as  this. 

Lee,  however,  soon  set  the  boys  at  rest  in  their  minds. 
The  furs  they  had  brought  were  the  very  things  he  needed 
most.  That  and  rations.  It  was  bitter  work  keeping  the 
signal  station  in  touch  with  other  outposts  at  all  hours 
during  the  frosts  and  snows  of  midwinter  and  the  troopers 
with  him  were  scantily  clad,  even  the  best  of  them.  The 
officer  spared  no  pains  to  make  the  lads  realize  that  their 
work  was  not  only  appreciated,  but  a  very  necessity  un- 
der the  existing  want.  He  went  so  far  as  to  call  in  the 
men  who  could  be  spared  from  outpost  duty  so  that  the 
boys  could  distribute  the  caps  and  mufflers  themselves. 
A  meal,  chiefly  noteworthy  for  its  scantiness,  brought 
home  to  the  trappers  a  realization  of  the  privations  com- 
mon to  army  life  in  the  field. 

"War  is  only  nice  in  the  story  books  and  in  the  tales  of 
those  who've  forgotten  what  it's  really  like,"  said  one  of 


232  SANDY  FLASH 

the  sergeants,  noting  the  expression  of  wonder  on  Dave's 
face.  "It's  a  hard,  grinding  job  at  best,  war  is,  but  it's 
seldom  full  of  the  glory  we  look  to  see.  It's  mostly  hun- 
ger and  cold  and  wet,  that  and  the  filth  of  it  all,  which  is 
the  worst.  But  when  it  comes,  why,  there's  nothing  for 
it  but  to  turn  to  with  a  grin  and  make  the  best  of  it,  I 
reckon.  Each  in  his  own  part.  You  lads  can  do  more 
than  half  a  battery  of  guns,  if  you  just  keep  on  getting 
pelts  to  keep  the  cold  from  us,  the  way  you've  been  do- 
ing. And  maybe  a  slab  of  fresh  meat,  if  you've  luck  with 
that  buck  you  spoke  of.  That'd  be  a  feast!" 

The  hint  put  new  determination  in  the  boys.  Shortly 
after  the  midday  meal,  they  said  good-by  to  the  troopers 
and  rode  off  for  home.  A  long  time  they  were  silent. 
They  had  too  many  things  to  think  about  for  much  con- 
versation. Hitherto,  the  war  had  passed  by  them  wholly, 
except  for  the  occasional  raids  of  freebooters  like  Sandy 
Flash  and  Doan.  Their  families  had  not  suffered  much; 
there  was  no  tea,  sugar  was  hard  to  get  hold  of,  that  was 
about  all.  Rumor  of  battle  and  skirmish  had  come  to 
them  in  Providence  from  time  to  time,  but  not  the  breath 
of  war  itself,  not  the  sight  of  shivering  men,  almost  bare- 
footed in  the  snow,  not  the  wounded  as  they  had  seen  one 
poor  fellow  in  the  outpost  with  a  bullet  through  his 
cheek. 

The  fight  at  Signal  Hill,  small  and  of  no  especial  impor- 
tance as  it  was,  served  to  drive  home  the  fact  that  cour- 
age was  not  necessarily  a  part  of  great  engagements. 
The  tide  of  the  Revolution  never  came  nearer  to  them  or 
to  their  quiet  farms  than  it  did  that  cold  January  day  when 
Tarleton  had  led  his  charging  cavalry  to  the  attack  on 


SIGNAL  HILL  233 

Signal  Hill,  yet  as  long  as  they  lived  the  boys  were  the 
better  for  their  knowledge  of  that  fight.  In  a  way  they 
could  not  understand,  they  sensed  the  unconquerable 
spirit  of  the  thing.  They  began  to  see  what  men  meant 
by  that  which  they  called  their  country. 

"I  say,  Dave,"  Bob  Allyn  spoke  at  last,  as  they  crossed 
the  Darby  Creek  and  settled  to  the  climb  on  the  other 
side.  "When  I  get  home  I'm  going  to  tell  father  all  I  saw 
and  ask  if  we  can't  put  in  some  more  time  in  the  woods. 
A  little  more,  anyway.  There  are  deer  about  and  think 
what  it  would  mean  to  those  fellows  back  yonder  if  only 
we  could  get  the  stag  we  saw  at  Hunting  Hill !  Why,  it'd 
be  meat  enough  to  feed  'em  for  a  month!  Fresh  venison 
'stead  of  moldy  pork  and  rotting  hominy!" 

"I  was  just  thinking  the  same  thing.  I  know  my 
father'll  let  me  do  it,  too."  Dave  clicked  at  his  horse. 
The  beast  was  beginning  to  lag  a  bit,  tired  by  the  work 
of  the  day. 

"Never  click  your  tongue  like  that  to  a  horse,  Davey, 
when  you're  riding  with  anybody.  It  makes  the  other 
person's  horse  start  on  and  some  time  or  other  it'll  cause 
trouble  if  one  horse  happens  to  be  a  bit  frisky.  All  right 
when  you're  driving  in  a  wagon,  maybe,  but  no  good  man 
with  a  horse  ever  does  it  under  the  saddle." 

Again  the  boys  rode  onward  for  a  time  in  silence.  They 
could  not  keep  their  minds  from  the  lonely  outguards  they 
had  left  at  Signal  Hill.  Suddenly  Bob  glanced  at  his 
chum,  then  spoke  sharply: 

"Tell  me,  Dave,  I  just  thought  of  something,  did  that 
sergeant  tell  you  about  the  way  the  attack  first  came  up 
the  hill?  I  mean  how  Tarleton  got  his  men  close  about 


234  SANDY  FLASH 

the  foot  of  the  place  under  shelter  of  the  trees?  You 
were  with  me  when  he  began  to  talk  about  it,  after  we'd 
something  to  eat,  then  you  went  out  with  Lee  to  get  that 
other  cap  with  the  big  ear  pieces  that  he  thought  would 
fit  him.  Did  you  hear  the  rest  of  it?" 

"Not  another  word,  but  I  reckon  I  heard  all  there  was 
to  tell.  He  said  that  the  redcoats  got  into  the  woods  from 
the  east,  across  the  Darby  road,  coming  there  by  a  little 
path  from  near  Old  St.  David's.  And  that  another  lot 
of  'em  came  more  from  the  south,  as  if  they'd  followed 
the  lane  that  runs  north  like  from  Saw  Mill  Wood  and 
what  they  call  the  Round  Top.  I  heard  all  that  before 
I  went  out.  Wasn't  that  all  he  told  you?" 

"I  say !  I  never  knew  you  didn't  know ! "  Bob  whistled 
in  pure  amazement.  "I  was  sure  he'd  told  you — " 

"Told  me  what?"  cried  Dave,  beside  himself  with  im- 
patience. "For  pity's  sake,  tell  me  and  have  done  with 
it!" 

"Told  you  who  led  the  dragoons  to  Signal  Hill!"  Bob 
spoke  seriously  enough  for  all  the  other's  haste.  "The 
Tory  who  gave  away  the  secret  of  the  post  and  the  few 
troopers  they'd  left  in  the  house!  They  saw  him  m  the 
fight.  Sandy  Flash!" 

"Sandy  Flash!"  For  once  Dave  was  taken  aback  be- 
yond the  power  of  his  control  to  hide.  "That  means 
he's—" 

"It  means  he's  close  about  us  at  his  sneaking  deviltry 
again!  It  means  I'm  mighty  glad  I've  got  a  gun !"  Bob 
tapped  the  boot  that  held  the  flintlock  to  his  saddle. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  MASK 

THE  rest  of  the  ride  back  to  Upper  Providence,  how- 
ever, proved  to  be  as  peaceful  as  either  boy  could 
have  desired.  The  roads  were  deserted  for  the  most  part 
and  what  few  people  they  did  meet  with  were  farmers 
bent  upon  reaching  home  before  dark.  At  the  Pratt  House 
inn  by  Newtown  Square,  Dave  and  Bob  stopped  to  rest 
their  horses  with  a  sup  of  water  and  a  bit  of  hay,  while 
they  themselves  went  indoors  to  warm  their  stiffening 
fingers  at  the  fire.  Dave  half  shuddered  as  he  recalled 
the  night  of  alarm  they  had  spent  there  only  a  few  weeks 
before.  While  he  was  looking  at  the  bullet  rip  in  the 
kitchen  door,  Bob  explained  to  the  host  the  news  he  had 
heard  of  Sandy  Flash's  reappearance  and  the  part  the 
outlaw  had  played  in  the  skirmish  at  Signal  Hill.  The 
man  laughed  in  great  glee  when  he  learned  of  the  gallant 
manner  in  which  Light-Horse  Harry  had  repelled  the  at- 
tack and  held  the  station  against  such  odds. 

"That's  the  sort  of  man  we  need!"  cried  he,  slapping 
his  leg  in  enthusiasm  till  the  dust  rose  from  the  coarse 
homespun  of  his  knee  breeches.  "Eh,  lads,  the  war  will 
soon  be  over  at  this  rate.  If  eight  men  and  an  old  farm- 
house can  hold  off  such  a  crowd  of  well-drilled  troopers 
all  the  day,  what  would  Friend  Lee  have  done  if  he'd  all 
his  Legion  with  him!  Tarleton  would  have  run  hot- 

235 


236  SANDY  FLASH 

foot  nigh  to  Tinicum  Island.  So  it  'pears  to  me,  he 
would,  'stead  of  trying  to  take  the  hill  in  Easttown ! " 

Neither  the  boys  nor  the  landlord  really  worried  very 
much  about  Flash.  Wherever  he  might  be,  it  was  clear 
that  he  proposed  to  keep  under  cover  since  no  one  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Square  had  gotten  word  of  his  return. 
Warmed  by  the  hearth  glow  and  a  fine  dish  of  sassafras 
tea,  Dave  and  Bob  thanked  the  kindly  natured  man  and 
his  wife.  Then  they  remounted  and  rode  the  rest  of  the 
way  toward  Rose  Tree.  The  day  was  far  spent  by  the 
time  they  parted  at  Blue  Hill  lane,  but  the  remembrance 
of  the  joy  their  pelts  had  brought  to  the  ill-clad  soldiers 
at  Signal  Hill  left  a  warm  little  flame  of  satisfaction  in 
their  hearts.  They  knew  beyond  all  gainsaying  that 
they  had  been  of  use.  And  that  was  much  to  them. 
They  had  proved  to  their  own  good  conscience  that  their 
days  of  trapping  and  hunting  were  far  from  mere  idle 
hours  of  pleasure,  keen  as  had  been  their  enjoyment  of 
the  sport. 

Dave  waved  his  arm  and  passed  round  the  bend  into 
the  woodland  spinney  that  lay  between  him  and  home. 
The  setting  sun  had  lengthened  the  shadows  of  the  chest- 
nuts to  gigantic  proportions.  The  snow  curled  crisp 
and  smooth  as  cream  along  the  fencerows.  There  was 
no  wind.  The  peace  of  the  evening  had  slipped  upon 
the  countryside  with  the  coming  of  twilight.  The  boy, 
under  the  spell  of  it,  drew  a  deep  breath,  tasting  the 
cold,  sweet  air  that  felt  so  sharply  pleasant  to  his  lungs. 
It  fairly  made  him  tingle  with  the  burning  life  of  it, 
the  amazing  energy  of  all  outdoors.  Again  he  straight- 
ened in  the  saddle  and  breathed  full,  before  he  settled 


THE  MASK  237 

once  more  to  the  stirrups  with  a  little  shake  of  comfort. 
It  was  fine  to  be  alive,  to  feel  so  keen  and  strong  and 
fit,  every  muscle  and  fiber  of  his  body  in  tune  to  the 
glory  of  the  passing  day. 

Dave  was  right  in  his  guess  about  the  permission  when 
he  asked  his  father  a  little  later  on  that  he  and  Bob 
be  given  more  time  to  try  for  the  deer.  Hugh  Thomas 
had  not  been  himself  all  the  way  to  Valley  Forge  across 
the  Radnor  Hills  without  seeing  the  crying  need  for 
every  bit  of  help  that  could  be  given.  A  load  of  fresh 
venison  would  do  much  to  relieve  the  hunger  of  one  out- 
post anyway. 

"Take  the  next  day  you  want,  son.  I'll  lend  my  gun. 
See  Bob  Allyn  and  let  me  know  when  you  plan  to  go. 
It's  all  I  want  to  know.  Only  don't  be  getting  caught 
up  again  by  Sandy  Flash.  He'd  brand  you  right  this 
time.  It  might  go  lots  worse  with  you!"  The  farmer 
laughed,  as  he  recalled  the  story  of  the  boys'  escape 
and  their  desperate  haste  through  the  woodlands  to  New- 
town  Hill  with  the  broken  leg  irons  still  fast  about  their 
shins.  He  knew  the  danger  they  had  been  in,  probably 
a  good  deal  better  than  the  boys  themselves,  but  Hugh 
Thomas  was  never  the  man  to  draw  a  long  face  at  trouble 
passed  and  done  with. 

Dave  took  his  father  at  his  word  and  rode  down  to 
see  Bob  the  very  next  evening  after  milking  chores  were 
over.  The  boys  soon  agreed  upon  a  day.  The  earlier 
the  better,  it  seemed  to  them,  so  Thursday  morning  of 
that  week  was  chosen.  They  asked  big  John  Allyn 
if  it  would  be  all  right  so  far  as  his  need  of  Bob  was 
concerned  and  found  to  their  great  relief  that  it  would. 


238  SANDY  FLASH 

That  gave  them  two  days  leeway  to  get  ready  and  to 
do  a  few  extra  chores  by  way  of  making  up  for  the 
time  to  be  lost. 

All  their  preparations  were  in  vain,  however,  for  the 
long  walk  on  Thursday,  from  gray  dawn  until  sunset 
light,  showed  them  not  so  much  as  a  slot  of  the  stag 
they  longed  to  win.  One  small  doe  was  viewed,  off  on 
the  highlands  of  Radnor  Barrens,  but  far  too  distant 
for  a  shot  even  had  they  cared  to  try  for  it.  Discouraged, 
they  trudged  homeward,  feeling  that  they  had  lost  their 
last  chance  for  the  worth-while  prize  the  day  they  had 
cornered  it  so  neatly  in  the  cedar  thicket  of  Crum.  A 
gleam  of  hope  came  to  them  from  the  vague  report  of 
a  blacksmith  who  had  heard  of  the  stag  being  seen  and 
recognized  the  week  before.  However,  this  was  far  away 
in  distant  Fallowfi eld  and  uncertain  hearsay  at  best.  The 
boys  could  not  bring  themselves  to  put  much  reliance 
in  it.  Nor  did  they  feel  it  worth  their  while  to  follow 
such  a  weak  clue  so  far  to  the  westward  across  the 
Brandywines. 

As  sometimes  happens,  clouds  break  just  when  they 
seem  the  darkest  and  so  it  was  in  the  case  of  the  deer 
of  Hunting  Hill.  The  young  trappers  got  him.  In  truth, 
they  were  as  much  surprised  at  it  as  were  their  parents. 
If  the  real  facts  be  told,  their  luck  was  luck  alone  and 
not  in  the  least  a  result  of  woodcraft  or  patience. 

"I  say,  Dave,  this  ought  to  have  come  from  sticking 
at  it,"  Bob  laughingly  called  to  his  chum,  as  they  were 
skinning  the  carcass.  "But  it  didn't.  If  we'd  gotten 
it  as  we  should,  it  would  be  just  like  two  boys  in  a  fairy 
tale.  They  always  overcome  all  odds  and  win  in  the 


THE  MASK  239 

end,  you  know.  But  we — why,  we  just  blundered  into 
it  and  couldn't  miss!  Reckon  that's  what  mostly  happens 
in  real  life,  don't  you  expect?" 

It  was  the  truth.  The  two  lads  had  left  their  homes 
quite  late  one  morning  to  see  to  the  trap  line.  They 
had  given  up  all  chances  at  the  stag  in  disgust  as  not 
worth  the  time  spent  upon  it,  although  Dave  had  taken 
his  father's  gun  along  for  luck.  Ever  since  that  day  when 
they  had  lost  their  first  great  opportunity,  he  had  never 
failed  to  carry  a  weapon.  It  paid  to  be  prepared  as 
events  turned  out.  The  boys  had  parted  below  the 
ford  of  Ridley,  one  going  straight  upstream,  the  other 
leading  the  horses  round  as  usual  to  the  MacAfee  barn 
near  Edgemont.  More  often  than  not,  they  rode  to  and 
from  the  sets  these  days  to  save  time.  Bob,  for  he  it 
was  who  had  gone  along  the  brook  on  foot,  was  more 
than  halfway  through  the  cover,  when  a  sound  of  break- 
ing branches  caused  him  to  pause  and  look  sharply  ahead. 

He  checked  himself  to  a  dead  halt  the  next  moment, 
one  foot  half  raised,  as  he  looked  again  to  make  sure. 
His  breath  caught  in  a  little  gasp  of  astonishment. 
Down  the  side  of  the  stream,  not  three  hundred  yards 
away,  raced  Dave,  making  scant  noise  in  the  drifts  of 
powdery  snow,  except  as  his  feet  broke  through  and 
snapped  a  fallen  branch  beneath.  The  younger  boy 
stopped  when  he  caught  sight  of  Bob,  in  the  glade,  then 
he  tossed  up  his  hand  and  motioned  frantically.  Before 
the  sound  of  his  voice  could  carry  through  the  wood, 
young  Allyn  had  one  wild  moment  of  panic.  Was  it 
Sandy  Flash!  But  his  companion's  shout  rang  in  a  posi- 
tive scream  of  triumph  to  reassure  him. 


240  SANDY  FLASH 

"The  buck!  I've  gotten  the  buck!  Hurrah!  I've 
killed  it!  I  tell  you,  Bob,  the  stag—" 

Bob  Allyn  dropped  his  trap  chains,  breaking  into  a 
run,  for  his  chum  was  quite  beside  himself  with  excite- 
ment, leaping  about  in  the  snow  like  a  madman,  eyes 
wild  with  the  thrill  of  his  first  big  deer. 

"Oh,  Bob — I — I — I  got  him  square!  It's  the  very 
one  we  saw  before,  too!  Hu-hurry,  can't  you,  and  see 
it!  Hurrah!" 

"Good  boy!"  Bob  slapped  his  friend  a  hearty  bang 
of  congratulation  upon  the  back  as  he  dashed  up  to  him. 
"Now  we'll  have  some  fresh  meat  for  Lee's  men !  Where'd 
you  see  it?  Are  the  horses  all  right?" 

"Yes!  I'd  gotten  'em  in  the  stable.  Cunningham  was 
there.  And  I  left 'em  with  him!"  The  boy  was  panting 
from  the  strain  of  his  luck.  "Then  I  hurried  down  the 
road  to  meet  you  near  the  crossing.  I — I,"  he  stuttered, 
then  forced  a  grip  on  his  enthusiasm  and  checked  the 
rush  of  words.  "I  spied  the  buck  on  the  side  of  the  hill 
up  there.  It  looked  as  big  as  a  barn!  Really!" 

"Sure  it  was  the  same  one?  The  stag  we  saw  in  the 
cedars?  Hey,  there,  Davey,  I  say!  Stop  spinning  round 
like  a  top  and  tell  me!"  Bob  laughed  at  the  other's  way 
of  showing  his  joy. 

"Oh,  Bob,  I've  told  you  so  a  hundred  times  alreadyl 
It's  just  above  there  on  the  road.  Come  and  see  for 
yourself.  Whoop-pee!"  He  leaped  in  the  air  for  very 
joy. 

Bob  Allyn  was  seventeen  now  and  deliberate  with 
countless  Scotch  generations  behind  him,  but  he  could 
hold  out  no  longer  against  the  contagion  of  the  younger 


THE  MASK  241 

boy's  spirits.  He  gave  way  to  a  surge  of  enthusiasm  that 
carried  him  off  his  feet,  as  a  full  realization  of  their  for- 
tune dawned  on  him.  Dave  was  trembling  with  the  thrill 
of  it.  Together,  the  boys  raced  up  Ridley  water  for  the 
road,  both  yelling  like  wild  Indians.  It  was  all  too  un- 
believable to  be  true !  As  they  pushed  their  way  through 
the  bushes,  Dave  panted  out  further  details  of  his  for- 
tune. 

He  had  stalled  the  horses,  as  Bob  already  knew,  leav- 
ing them  in  the  care  of  their  good  friend  at  the  MacAfees'. 
Afterwards,  he  had  been  calmly  walking  down  the  Stras- 
burg  way  to  meet  Bob  at  the  ford,  when  to  his  utter 
amazement  he  had  viewed  the  stag.  The  great  deer  was 
a  good  way  above  him  to  the  right.  Evidently,  it  had 
returned  to  its  old  haunts  near  the  Rising  Sun  in  Willis- 
town  after  wandering  far  afield  for  several  fortnights. 
Dave  had  retained  the  presence  of  mind  to  drop  flat  in 
the  ditch  the  instant  he  caught  sight  of  it — just  a  fraction 
of  time  before  the  graceful  creature  turned  its  head. 

"I  just  had  pure  luck!  That  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
Bob!  Beginner's  luck,  I  reckon  you'd  call  it.  It  was 
a  long  way  too  far  off  to  shoot  from  where  I  was,  but 
it  was  side-on  to  me  and  looking  hard  as  ever  it  could 
across  the  valley  and  the  brook.  I  think  there  must 
have  bee?n  a  doe  or  something  yonder  in  the  Greenbriers 
beyond — by  the  Barrens.  Maybe  in  the  Pickering 
Thicket.  He  was  busy  watching  something  over  there, 
anyway,  and  didn't  see  me.  My!  What  a  target!  I 
peeped  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  at  him  and  then 
spied  a  gipsy  fence  running  uphill  from  the  road.  It  was 
a  good  deal  nearer  him  and  I  knew  that  if  I  could  reach 


242  SANDY  FLASH 

it  once  and  crawl  up,  I'd  stand  some  hope  of  a  shot! 
Worth  the  trying  for,  anyway. 

"I  just  did  my  best  to  move  like  a  worm,  Bob!  I 
twisted  and  edged  along  the  ditch  in  the  snow  till  I 
got  to  it.  That  old  fence!  And  then  I  squeezed  close 
to  where  a  bar  was  broken.  It  got  me  a  good  deal 
nearer  the  place  where  the  deer  was  than  I'd  thought  it 
would.  A  lot  nearer!  And  the  wind  was  coming  strong 
right  from  him  to  me.  I  pushed  the  old  gun  through 
the  panel  and  rested  it  on  the  lower  rail  where  it  was 
smashed.  Couldn't  ever  have  gotten  him,  if  I  hadn't, 
that  far  away.  He  never  knew  what  hit  him!  Just 
reared  up  and — " 

"Where  did  the  bullet  go?  The  head  or  the  — "  Bob, 
human,  therefore  envious,  was  hiding  his  chagrin  as  best 
he  could.  It  was  a  hard  pill  to  swallow,  this  seeing  his 
younger  chum  win  the  prize  of  the  year. 

"No,  not  the  head.  Just  back  of  the  shoulder.  It 
knocked  him  dead  as  a  farthing!  Just  like  that  man's 
horse  the  highwayman  shot,  up  at  the  Pratt,  the  time 
Flash  got  away.  You  know!  That's  why  I  aimed  there. 
Very  same  spot!  Look  yonder!  There  he  is!  See  his 
horns!  Beat  you  to  it,  Bob,  you  old  slow  coach!" 

Dave  darted  across  the  road  with  Bob  Allyn  in  swift 
pursuit.  Together,  they  climbed  the  open  field  beyond, 
running  hard,  saving  their  breath  for  the  pitch  of  the 
hill  before  them.  The  lighter  boy  thought  he  had  the 
race  without  an  effort,  but  soon  enough  he  found  he  had 
misjudged  the  other's  power  of  stride.  Neck  and  neck 
they  jockeyed  for  the  lead  till  Bob  broke  away  and  ran 
the  last  ten  yards  a  winner.  At  that,  he  was  not  ahead 


THE  MASK  243 

by  more  than  a  fraction  of  space.  The  pair  came  laugh- 
ingly to  a  halt  beside  the  body  of  the  stag.  It  lay  there 
on  the  smooth  snow,  where  the  sun  had  melted  the  deeper 
drifts  from  the  southern  slopes. 

Truly  it  was  a  prize  they  might  feel  proud  of,  even 
if  chance  luck  had  been  responsible  for  putting  it  in 
their  way.  However,  both  lads  recalled  that  this  was 
not  their  first  meeting  with  the  buck  of  Hunting  Hill  nor 
their  first  shot  at  it.  The  former  chase  and  its  stagger- 
ing end  in  the  cedar  thicket  was  a  thing  that  neither  of 
them  would  forget  as  long  as  he  lived.  It  made  this 
seem  a  little  more  like  a  reward  for  their  perseverance. 

The  animal  lay  on  its  side,  head  thrown  back,  the  great 
spread  of  horn  resting  on  the  ground.  Each  antler  was 
crowned  with  the  tines  of  a  full-sized  stag.  Dave  checked 
them  off  in  silence.  Somehow  or  other,  the  excitement 
had  gone  from  the  bo}'s,  as  they  stood  above  the  kingly 
body  and  studied  the  great  lines  of  it  that  spoke  so 
strikingly  of  speed  and  drive  and  power.  Never  before 
had  they  been  close  to  a  buck  of  such  proportion.  It 
sobered  them,  filled  them  with  a  kind  of  reverence  for 
the  fleetest  creature  that  moved  in  all  the  forests  round. 

"I  say,  Dave!  Look  at  those  horns!  See  the  points, 
will  you!  And  the  spread  of  it,  too.  There's  a  crown  for 
you!  It'll  make  a  right  fine  rack  for  your  room.  I 
mean  over  the  fireplace,  home." 

"I  never  saw  the  like  in  all  my  life.  I  can't  believe 
I  really  got  it!  'Deed  I  can't,  Bob!  Wait  till  father 
sees  him!"  Dave  touched  the  tip  of  the  great  tines. 
"He  seems  grayer  somehow  than  he  did  before,  when 
he  was  a  little  way  off.  Notice  it?"  The  lad  felt  the 


244  SANDY  FLASH 

sleek  neck  almost  fearingly.  He  was  suffering  from  buck 
fever,  had  he  only  known  it,  yet  recovered  spirits  soon 
enough  when  he  remembered  the  cheer  all  this  fine  venison 
would  bring  the  outpost  at  Signal  Hill.  Dave  shook  off 
his  depression  with  a  laugh  as  he  dropped  to  his  knees 
beside  the  carcass.  There  was  plenty  of  work  for  him 
before  that  same  good  meat  would  be  of  use  to  the  men 
with  Lee. 

"The  gray  color  in  his  coat  means  the  middle  of  winter, 
I  think,"  hazarded  Bob,  running  his  hand  against  the 
grain  of  the  hair.  "All  white-tailed  deer  get  grayish  like 
in  cold  weather,  then  in  summer  turn  brown  as  can  be. 
That's  so  as  to  save  'em.  Coat  sort  of  makes  a  match 
with  the  trees  and  the  snow,  'cording  to  what  season 
of  the  year  it  happens  to  be.  I've  seen  that  lots  with 
the  small  deer  we  used  to  have  down  Ridley  below  our 
place.  Let's  get  to  work  with  the  skinning." 

"Can't  do  it  very  well  here.  Not  half  so  good  as  we 
can  at  home  where  we've  a  rack  and  a  pulley  to  hoist 
him  up  high  while  we  work.  The  thing  they  use  to  cut 
up  the  hogs  at  butchering  time,  you  know." 

"That  might  be  the  best  way."  Bob  eyed  the  body, 
trying  to  estimate  its  weight,  but  his  experience  had  been 
too  limited  with  game  of  such  tremendous  size.  He  soon 
gave  it  up. 

"Surely!  We  can  do  it  in  no  time  then,"  urged  Dave. 
"I'm  going  to  get  the  horses  now,  and  then  lead  mine 
back  with  the  buck  over  the  saddle  like  a  poke  o'  meal 
going  to  mill!  Whoop!  Hurrah!  Won't  they  open  their 
eyes  when  they  spy  us  coming  down  the  lane!  Wait 
for  me  here,  Bob." 


THE  MASK  245 

"You're  right!  That  they  will!  Father '11  turn  a  hand- 
spring, most,  he's  teased  me  so  about  not  being  a  good 
hunter.  I'll  come  along  now  for  my  horse,  too.  I  say, 
this  is  different  from  the  time  Sandy  Flash  scared  it  off 
the  sights  of  our  guns!  Remember  the  cave  and  that  old 
poker  of  his?  This  big  buck  was  what  led  us  there!" 

"Not  likely  to  forget  it,  are  you?  Seems  like  a  sort 
of  dream  to  me  now.  Wonder  what  he'd  do,  if  he  got  hold 
of  us,  Sandy  Flash?  Or  the  other  fellow! " 

Bob  laughed.  Then  the  lads  turned  downhill  for  Edge- 
mont  and  the  barn  of  William  MacAfee.  As  they  has- 
tened along,  they  said  little,  too  thrilled  by  the  thought 
of  their  wonderful  luck.  By  the  time  they  had  gotten 
the  unwieldy  bulk  of  the  stag  across  Dave's  saddle,  they 
were  weary  enough.  Three  or  even  four  boys  the  size 
of  David  could  never  have  managed  it,  but  Bob's  great 
height  and  power  of  shoulder  finally  succeeded.  The 
horse  was  quiet  and  well  accustomed  to  loads,  so  that 
the  greatest  difficulty  was  in  calming  the  animal's  in- 
stinctive fear  of  the  dead  carcass.  Once  lifted  on,  how- 
ever, and  strapped  fast  to  the  saddle  with  the  legs  tied 
underneath,  the  boys  lost  no  time  in  leading  their  mounts 
to  the  road.  They  were  more  than  eager  to  reach  home 
and  show  the  prize  to  their  people. 

Skinning  and  cutting  up  into  manageable  chunks  was 
harder  than  they  had  looked  for,  but  they  finished  the 
work  at  last  and  carried  the  meat  over  to  Signal  Hill 
in  a  great  farm  sledge  a  day  or  two  later.  A  right  royal 
welcome  they  met  with  from  Lee  and  his  hungry  troopers. 
Even  the  unfortunate  fellow  with  the  wound  in  his  face 
seemed  cheered  beyond  measure  at  the  sight  of  the  hearty 


246  SANDY  FLASH 

meal  laid  out  in  the  farmhouse  kitchen.  It  was  the  first 
that  any  of  them  had  tasted  in  many  a  day  where  there 
was  enough  on  the  board  and  to  spare  for  all.  During 
the  drive  home,  Bob  brought  up  the  matter  of  the  beaver 
dam  again. 

"I  say,  Dave,  if  we  ever  hope  to  get  any  beaver  we'd 
best  go  over  to  the  pool  there  in  Crum  some  of  these 
fine  days  and  really  try  for  one.  Ridley's  all  right,  but 
we've  trapped  it  so  much  they're  shy.  Next  thing  you 
know  it'll  be  the  end  of  winter  and  pelts'll  begin  to  go 
off  a  bit." 

"Any  time  you  say,  Bob,"  replied  Dave,  reaching  to 
tuck  the  buffalo  robe  more  snugly  under  his  leg. 

"Warm  enough?  Sit  tight  on  the  rug  while  I  yank  it 
closer.  That's  it.  How  about  this  Saturday  for  the 
beaver?  Suits  me." 

"Good  as  any.  And  we  can  take  a  couple  of  traps 
along  and  try  different  ways.  That  scheme  of  your 
father's  seemed  to  me  the  best.  You  once — " 

"What  one  was  that?  The  set  in  the  runway?  You 
tried  it,  didn't  you,  the  time — " 

"No,  not  that  one.  But  the  other.  You  know.  Where 
you  take  a  hatchet  along  and  cut  a  little  hole  in  the 
ice,  then  put  the  trap  down  below  it.  In  the  water  where 
it's  not  too  deep.  I — " 

"Oh,  yes!  I  remember  now.  That's  a  pippin  of  a 
set!  Best  of  all!  Father  used  to  try  with  that  over 
in  the  Valley.  He  got  the  great  Cedar  Hollow  beaver 
that  way.  Told  you  about  it  once,  didn't  I?" 

"Yes.  Well,  why  not  try  the  same  thing  here?  And 
then  when  they  see  the  light  coming  in  at  the  hole  they'll 


THE  MASK  247 

swim  over  to  it  under  the  ice  and  reach  up.  Whoops! 
Away  goes  their  hind  leg  in  the  set  and  they're  drowned 
in  a  jiffy.  It's  a  real  clever  way  of  making  it,  I  think. 
We  could  have  used  it  long  ago  if  the  pool  had  only 
been  frozen  right  when  we  were  there.  My!  But  it's 
cold!  Glad  we're  most  back!" 

As  soon  as  the  boys  reached  home,  and  broached  the 
matter  to  their  parents,  tall  John  Allyn  gave  ready  con- 
sent. Indeed,  since  the  killing  of  the  deer,  he  had  been 
so  proud  of  his  son  that  he  would  have  granted  the  lad 
anything  he  could  within  reason.  Ever  a  boy  at  heart, 
himself,  he  loved  to  see  other  boys  making  good  at  what 
they  had  set  out  to  do.  Especially  was  he  filled  with 
satisfaction  when  he  caught  a  hint  of  the  determination 
that  had  kept  his  own  son  so  faithfully  at  trapping.  He 
knew  that  the  lad  had  been  bitterly  disappointed  when 
luck  gave  the  younger  boy  the  deer,  but  he  rejoiced  to 
see  that  this  dulled  in  no  way  Bob's  effort  and  spirit. 
As  he  used  to  say  to  him: 

"Bob,  there's  too  little  life  in  most  folks.  They  don't 
catch  the  joy  of  doing  things  heartily  enough.  Not  by 
half,  they  don't  and  that's  the  trouble.  Possum  souls, 
I  call  'em!  Why  I'd  lots  liever  lose  a  good  fight  with 
my  whole  spirit  in  it  than  win  most  all  the  world  with 
not  the  sport  of  trying!" 

Hugh  Thomas,  however,  did  not  look  at  the  thing  Just 
as  they  had  expected.  The  farmer  could  no  longer  resist 
the  lure  of  trying  his  own  hand  at  the  game.  Though 
they  were  anxious  to  make  the  sets  themselves,  the  boys 
were  delighted  at  having  him  come  along,  so  keen  for 
the  fun  he  proved  to  be.  The  man  kept  them  attentive 


248  SANDY  FLASH 

all  the  long  walk  over,  as  he  talked  of  the  experiences 
of  his  own  boyhood  days  with  traps  and  snares  and  old- 
time  gun.  At  the  pool,  Hugh  Thomas  showed  them  how 
to  cut  the  hole  in  the  ice  properly  and  how  to  place  the 
set  as  it  ought  to  be  below  it.  While  there,  they  put 
two  other  traps  in  position.  One  of  these  was  near  the 
dam,  where  the  beavers  had  locked  the  tree  trunks  as 
only  beaver  can.  Another  was  on  a  log  in  the  spillway 
below,  where  the  water  was  not  frozen.  They  agreed  to 
look  the  pond  over  the  next  afternoon,  as  it  was  the 
only  day  the  boys  could  be  spared  for  some  time.  Still 
talking  of  the  olden  days,  they  trudged  homeward  over 
the  drifted  fields,  but  back  of  it  all  in  the  minds  of  the 
three  was  the  thought  of  the  shivering  men  by  Mountjoy 
Forge  in  the  Valley.  That  was  the  driving  need  for 
every  pelt  they  could  win. 

After  noontide  dinner,  the  next  day,  true  to  plans, 
Dave  and  Bob  set  out,  bent  upon  making  the  most  of  the 
short  hours  of  light. 

"I  thought  so."  Dave  feigned  disgust,  as  he  looked 
at  the  traps.  "Only  one  caught  and  that  is  in  father's! 
Reckon  he  does  know  a  thing  or  two  about  it,  after  all. 
He'll  crow  loud  over  this!" 

It  was  true.  Hugh  Thomas  had  made  the  ice  set  well 
and  a  fair  pelt  was  his  reward.  However,  the  boys  knew 
the  trick  of  it  now  and  reset  all  three  traps  in  the  same 
way.  Before  the  winter  was  over,  they,  thanks  to 
Hugh's  lesson,  succeeded  in  catching  almost  as  many 
beaver  as  mink  and  lesser  game,  but  not  all  of  these 
were  in  the  Crum  Creek  pool,  of  course.  They  had  to 


THE  MASK  249 

walk  or  ride  many  a  weary  mile  into  the  deeper  wood- 
lands after  them. 

This  afternoon,  loaded  down  with  Hugh's  catch,  they 
turned  south  along  the  brook  and  followed  the  same  route 
they  had  taken  so  unwillingly  the  day  Flash  and  Mordecai 
Dougherty  had  made  them  captives.  Neither  boy  knew 
just  why,  but  as  they  approached  the  height  of  Castle 
Rock,  with  its  gloomy  pile  of  rocks  bulking  like  a  ruined 
tower  upon  the  summit,  a  desire  to  climb  again  to  the 
cave  possessed  them. 

"What  do  you  say,  Bob?  You  willing?  Suppose  he's 
there?"  Dave  shuddered  in  mock  fear.  He  felt  quite 
sure  that  the  outlaw  was  not  there  or  anywhere  else 
in  the  neighborhood.  If  he  had,  he  would  have  been  the 
last  to  suggest  running  needlessly  to  danger. 

"If  you  want!  We've  got  a  gun."  Bob  Allyn  was 
unarmed,  carrying  the  beaver,  but  the  other  boy  had 
Hugh  Thomas's  flintlock  slung  across  his  shoulder  by  a 
strap.  "We'd  better  keep  our  eyes  open,  though.  No 
sense  heading  into  anything  blindfolded!" 

"Not  the  least  bit,"  Dave  approved  heartily  of  that. 
"Let's  stalk  it.  Shall  we?  Just  for  a  lark!" 

Separating,  they  began  to  close  in  upon  the  entrance 
to  the  cave,  working  their  way  from  cover  to  cover,  scant 
as  that  was  beneath  the  chill  of  midwinter.  Still,  it  was 
sport  of  the  best  and  it  gave  them  good  practice  as  well 
as  thrill.  They  both  had  felt  from  the  start  their  pre- 
cautions were  not  really  needed  and  they  were  right. 
The  cave  was  as  empty  as  it  had  been  the  morning  when 
Flash  had  fled  from  it. 


250  SANDY  FLASH 

"Here's  the  old  fireplace.  Look!"  Bob  kicked  at  the 
ashes  with  his  foot.  "And  here's  the  same  little  rod  he 
was  getting  into  shape  for  you,  Dave.  My!  But  it's 
dark  in  here.  Got  a  light?" 

Dave  did  not  have  the  needed  tinder,  flint  and  steel, 
so  the  boys  were  forced  to  content  themselves  with  what 
reflected  snow  sheen  came  slanting  in  through  the  hole 
in  the  roof.  It  was  not  enough  temptation  to  dally,  so 
they  crawled  again  to  the  outer  ledge  of  rock  beneath 
the  vines.  Since  they  had  been  there  before,  these  had 
lost  most  of  their  leaves  and  now  afforded  little  or  no 
cover.  Bob  kicked  at  them  with  his  foot,  then  pushed 
over  a  loose  stone  from  the  ledge.  Watching  it  bound 
down  the  precipitous  slope  in  front  of  them,  he  suddenly 
touched  Dave's  arm. 

"I  say,  what  about  going  down  this  way?  We  can 
make  it  easy  enough  now  there's  so  much  snow  caught 
between  the  rocks.  Did  you  ever  know,  Dave,  that  this 
place  up  here  used  to  be  a  great  find  for  buzzards'  eggs?" 

"So  somebody  said.  Oh,  yes,  Cunningham  up  at  the 
MacAfees',  it  was.  He  was  telling  me  about  it  the  other 
day  when  I  left  the  horses  in  their  barn.  The  very  time 
I  got  the  deer.  He  came  here  last  summer  to  look  for 
'em,  Cunningham  did,  and  found  a  nest  they  were  using." 

"That's  what  he  said  to  me,"  Bob  giggled  delightedly. 
"Did  he  tell  you  what  happened  next?  It  always  strikes 
me  so  funny  I  have  to  laugh!  Kind  of  disgusting,  too." 

"He  did!  And  mad  he  was  about  it!"  Dave  joined 
in  the  other's  merriment.  "Good  old  Cunny!  He  saw 
the  nest  up  among  the  rocks,  and  he  thought  he'd  just 
sneak  close  to  it  without  much  bother  from  the  big 


THE  MASK  251 

bald-jowled  buzzard  that  was  perched  on  a  dead  stick 
of  a  tree  a  bit  higher,  eyeing  him  kind  of  sleepy  like. 
Cunny  crawled  along  all  right,  then  just  as  he  spied  two 
of  the  finest  eggs  you  ever  heard  tell  of  in  the  nest,  and 
was  reaching  for  'em,  away  went  all  that  ugly  old  critter's 
craw  on  top  of  him.  He  caught  it  full  and  plenty!" 

"I'd  often  heard  tell  they'd  do  that,  turkey  buz- 
zards." Bob  still  chortled  with  glee.  "But  I  never  knew 
it  for  sure.  Reckon  old  Cunningham  got  about  all  the 
egg-gathering  he  wanted  for  a  while.  Must  have  been  a 
sight!" 

"So  he  said.  Can't  blame  him,  myself.  There's  the 
very  place  where  the  nest  was.  See  it  up  there?  By  the 
split  rock?"  Dave  pointed.  "Not  worth  climbing  to, 
though.  How  about  getting  on  down?  It's  kind  of  late. 
I'll  go  first." 

Crawling  over  the  snowy  face  of  the  drop  was  not  the 
easy  job  they  had  fancied,  but  each  lad  had  plenty  of 
training  in  taking  care  of  himself,  so  down  they  got  in 
safety.  At  the  foot,  young  Thomas  rested  for  a  moment 
on  a  boulder,  while  he  worked  some  loose  snow  from  the 
top  of  his  moccasin.  Bob  busied  himself  breaking  a  yard- 
long  icicle  into  bits  and  shying  it  against  the  trunk 
of  an  oak  tree  that  offered  a  target  tempting  his  skill. 
One  slim  foil  of  ice  caught  by  some  trick  of  chance  in 
the  bark,  remaining  there  as  though  it  were  an  arrow. 

"I  say!  Look  yonder,  Dave!  Who's  Robin  Hood 
now?  Bet  you  couldn't  do  it  like  that  in  a  hundred 
years!"  He  ran  forward  pointing,  but  the  splinter  of 
ice  fell  from  its  place  as  he  neared  it.  "Oh,  too  bad!" 

He  bent  forward  to  pick  up  the  dart,  but  it  had  sunk 


252  SANDY  FLASH 

from  view  in  the  drift  that  lapped  the  foot  of  the  tree. 
He  dug  down  after  it  with  his  gloved  hand,  as  Dave 
walked  toward  him. 

"Come  along,  Bob."  The  younger  boy  stamped  till  the 
moccasin  settled  comfortably  once  more  to  his  foot.  "It's 
awfully  late.  Really,  it  is.  What  in  the  world  have  you 
got  in  your  hand?  Looks  like  a — " 

"That's  what  I  wrmt  to  know  myself!"  He  was  hold- 
ing up  a  queer  piece  of  blackened  leather  about  six  or 
seven  inches  long  and  almost  as  wide.  A  string  of  raw- 
hide thong  dangled  from  one  corner.  He  had  come  upon 
it  near  the  roots  of  the  oak,  buried  in  snow.  "Now  tell 
me!  What  can  you  make  of  that!" 

He  slapped  the  stiffened,  moldy  leather  sharply  against 
his  leg  to  clear  it  of  ice,  then  suddenly  held  it  at  arm's 
length  for  the  other's  inspection.  Dave,  facing  it,  saw 
first  what  the  thing  really  was. 

"A  mask!  Turn  it  round,  Bob,  and  see!"  He  reached 
for  it  eagerly.  "Let's  have  it  a  second.  The  strangest 
one  I  ever  saw!  But  that's  what  it  is,  all  right.  Look 
here!"  He  raised  it  to  the  level  of  his  face  and  peered 
through  the  twin  holes  at  his  chum.  "Isn't  k  that?" 

It  was,  in  all  truth,  a  sort  of  rude  mask  or  face-guard, 
cut  from  heavy  leather.  Eye  holes  had  been  let  into  it 
neatly  enough.  The  thong  was  attached  to  one  side  at 
the  top,  while  another  hole  was  punched  opposite  it,  evi- 
dently for  making  it  fast,  when  worn.  The  significance 
of  it  drove  home  to  the  boys'  minds  sharply,  instantly. 

"Feel  it?"  Dave  tried  to  bend  the  leather.  "Hard 
as  any  board!  But  it's  made  from  a — " 

"A  blacksmith's  apron!"    Bob  looked  at  the  eye  spaces 


THE  MASK  253 

more  closely.  "And  the  man  that  cut  these  holes  knew 
how  to  handle  his  tool,  too!  It's  stiff  now  from  lying 
in  the  weather,  but  that's  what  it's  made  of,  all  right. 
See  the  stains?  He's  smoothed  the  edges  with  a  smithy's 
paring  knife!" 

"How — how  long's  it  been  here,  do  you  think?"  Dave 
felt  a  little  shiver  of  warning  creep  up  the  back  of  his 
neck.  "Could  Sandy  Flash  have — " 

Bob  glanced  quickly  round,  but  the  afternoon  was  still 
and  hushed  as  ever.  Across  the  little  valley,  the  glory 
of  a  winter  sunset  touched  the  snow  on  Edgemont  Hill 
to  a  flaming  diadem  of  silver.  Allyn  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  flung  aside  the  mask. 

"We  can't  tell  how  long,  Davey.  Not  now.  It's 
Flash,  though,  must  have  made  it!  Hurry!  Take  the 
beaver,  will  you !  Let  me  have  the  gun ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  LOG  SET 

what  I  can't  make  out  is  why  he'd  ever  use  a 
like  that."  Bob  Allyn  was  helping  his  father 
at  milking,  the  Monday  morning  after  finding  the  mask. 
"It  wouldn't  give  him  any  real  guard,  though  it  was 
heavy  as  could  be.  I  say!  Easy  there,  Dolly!"  The 
boy  pressed  his  head  closer  to  the  cow's  flank  to  avoid 
the  swish  of  her  tail.  Then  he  went  on  with  steady 
play  of  wrist  and  fingers  till  the  bucket  frothed  full.  "Do 
you  think,  father,  he's  been  back  at  Castle  Rock?  Good 
Dave  and  I  got  home  before  it  rained  last  night  and 
froze  all  over  everything." 

"He  may  well  have  been,  son,  he  may  well  have,  but 
I  doubt  it.  It's  a  pity  you  didn't  bring  that  mask  home 
with  you.  I'd  like  to  have  had  a  look  at  it.  From  a 
leather  apron,  you  reckon?  I'll  wager  it  was  just  to  hide 
his  face,  and  he  made  it  out  of  whatever  he  happened  to 
have  handy.  Oh,  well,  we've  no  manner  of  trouble  this 
many  a  day,  so  why  complain!  As  granddaddy  used  to 
have  it:  '  'tis  time  and  plenty  to  bid  the  Devil  good  morn- 
ing when  you  meet  him.'  Wise  old  gaffer!" 

"I  guess  it's  the  best  way  to  look  at  it.  Maybe  we 
weren't  on  the  watch  coming  home  last  evening,  though! 
I  wanted  Dave  Thomas  to  give  me  his  father's  gun  and 
for  him  to  take  the  beaver.  He  told  me  he  reckoned  not! 
He's  plenty  of  courage,  Davey  has,  for  all  his  size!" 

254 


THE  LOG  SET  255 

Big  John  Allyn  chuckled  to  himself.  This  was  the 
sort  of  spirit  he  liked  to  find  in  boys.  He  admired  the 
younger  lad's  holding  on  to  his  flintlock  quite  as  much 
as  he  did  his  own  son's  wish  to  have  it. 

"We'll  have  a  look  at  the  mask  again,  some  of  these 
days,  Bob.  There's  likely  a  clue  to  it  we  wot  not  of. 
Dave  Thomas  did  as  he  should  have  done  in  keeping 
his  weapon.  A  man  mustn't  let  other  folks  do  his  fight- 
ing for  him,  you  know!  All  through?  Mother's  waiting 
for  a  fresh  pail,  you'd  better  hurry.  She  can  strain  it 
now  while  I  finish  here  in  the  barn.  It'll  take  no  time 
at  all.  I'll  be  in  for  breakfast.  Don't  wait,  I'll  be  right 
after  you." 

While  the  farmer  busied  himself  completing  early 
chores,  Bob  carried  the  milk  to  the  house.  The  queer 
mask  puzzled  him  provokingly,  the  more  he  thought  of 
it,  but  he  never  did  solve  its  mystery.  Nor  was  he  able 
to  find  it  again.  John  Allyn  was  probably  right  in  his 
supposition  that  the  thing  was  a  disguise  which  Flash 
had  cut  from  his  smithy's  apron,  because  he  happened 
to  have  it  near  at  hand.  Many  years  afterwards,  the 
old  bit  of  leather  was  unearthed  once  more  at  Castle 
Rock,  moldy  and  warped  with  wet  and  exposure,  but 
unmistakably  the  same  as  that  which  Bob  and  Dave  had 
tossed  so  carelessly  aside  the  afternoon  they  caught  the 
beaver  in  the  Crum  Creek  pool. 

After  breakfast,  Bob's  father  went  out  on  the  steps 
and  looked  earnestly  at  the  winter  clouds.  He  seemed 
to  feel  in  his  bones  what  he  was  wont  to  call  a  "skift 
of  snow."  However,  it  did  not  bother  him  much,  for 
a  little  later  he  called  to  the  boy  and  told  him  that 


256  SANDY  FLASH 

he  wanted  him  to  ride  on  an  errand  of  importance  far 
up  in  the  country  near  Goshen  Meeting.  With  proper 
judgment  of  pace,  the  lad  would  have  ample  time  to  reach 
there  by  noon,  deliver  the  message,  then  be  home  in 
Providence  before  the  day  was  spent. 

Bob  started  at  once,  glad  of  the  chance  for  a  long  jaunt 
in  the  saddle,  icy  though  the  roads  were.  It  was  the  sort 
of  work  he  loved.  At  Goshen,  he  saw  the  farmer,  gave 
the  message  about  the  purchase  of  a  heifer,  then,  having 
eaten  a  hearty  dinner,  turned  his  horse's  head  toward 
home.  It  was  a  good  deal  later  in  the  afternoon  than 
he  had  realized,  but  there  was  still  no  need  for  rush. 

Just  beyond  Button's  Mill,  Bob  drew  rein.  For  an 
instant  he  hesitated,  uncertain  of  the  time,  then  he  nodded 
his  head  quickly  with  decision.  Sliding  from  the  saddle, 
he  gave  his  reins  a  twist  or  two  about  a  branch  that 
jutted  from  a  wayside  sassafras  and  turned  once  more 
toward  the  west.  He  glanced  anxiously  at  the  sky.  The 
sun  was  just  sinking  over  Rocky  Hill,  a  riotous  glory  of 
color  that  made  the  boy  pause  in  wonder  at  its  beauty. 
It  was  not  that,  however,  which  held  him  to-day  so  much, 
as  it  was  the  look  of  the  cloud  banks  fast  rolling  up  from 
the  forest  rim  more  to  the  north.  The  fiery  splendor 
did  not  deceive  him  at  all.  Weatherwise,  as  all  his  people, 
he  had  long  since  learned  to  read  the  signs  of  sky  and 
cloud  and  wind.  Farmers,  dependent  entirely  on  the 
land  and  what  they  could  win  from  it,  the  Allyns  had 
unconsciously  gained  a  respect  for  nature  and  her  moods. 
They  were  sprung  from  folk  racy  of  the  soil.  Their 
bread,  their  very  livelihood,  came  from  their  ability  to 
interpret  and  heed  the  warnings  of  the  out  of  doors. 


THE  LOG  SET  257 

Those  dull  gray  clouds,  heavy,  low-lying,  sweeping  in 
over  the  highland  between  the  Turk's  Head  and  Goshen 
Meeting,  meant  snow.  And  Bob  knew  it. 

Again  he  looked  at  the  sun,  reckoning  the  daylight 
left  him,  weighing  in  his  mind  whether  or  not  he  would 
have  time  to  slip  down  the  ravine  to  the  otter  pool  and 
still  reach  home  before  snowfall.  He  rather  felt  he 
would  not,  but  then  there  was  the  log  set,  his  final  try 
for  the  king  otter.  He  had  put  it  out  a  few  days  before, 
unknown  to  any  one,  and  staked  everything  on  the  result 
of  the  effort.  The  evening  air,  chill  with  coming  snow, 
the  rising  wind,  the  ominous  storm  cutting  fast  into  the 
west,  decided  him.  He  would  risk  it.  If  he  did  not,  it 
might  be  days  before  he  could  get  so  far  up  Ridley  again. 
Bob  yanked  the  reins  to  test  their  hold,  then  with  a  pat 
on  his  horse's  neck,  slipped  from  the  lane  and  hastened 
through  the  forest.  It  would  not  do  to  keep  the  animal 
standing  in  the  cold  very  long. 

Late  in  the  day  though  it  was,  everything  had  been 
attended  to,  and  the  boy  was  free  to  do  as  he  pleased. 
He  had  neared  the  haunt  of  the  otter,  jogging  along 
above  it  on  the  Boot  Road  without  really  noting  the  ap- 
proaching clouds.  Fairie  Hill,  White  Horse,  Edgemont 
and  home  lay  before  him.  It  was  not  so  terribly  far, 
at  that.  The  going  was  bad,  too  slippery  for  speed,  de- 
spite the  roughing  of  his  mount's  shoes.  A  bit  of  snow, 
provided  it  did  not  come  too  savagely,  might  well  give 
footing  and  help  him  on  his  way.  That  thought  decided 
him. 

Bob,  hurrying  along  far  down  the  hollow,  pushed  aside 
the  last  of  the  alders.  The  branches  cracked  slightly,  a 


258  SANDY  FLASH 

shower  of  ice  crystals  falling  from  them  in  the  dimming 
glow  of  sunset.  The  thicket  was  a  fairy-land,  a  veritable 
place  of  make-believe,  studded  with  jewels,  brilliants  in 
silver  settings,  diamonds  cold  with  the  evening  hush  of 
the  forest,  amethysts  aflame  with  the  blaze  of  the  reflected 
sky.  Each  tiniest  twig  of  bush  and  brier,  vine  and  sap- 
ling, stood  out  sheathed  in  ice,  stiff,  distinct,  a  thin 
saber  of  light  and  fire,  amazingly  beautiful,  sparkling, 
unreal.  Beyond  lay  Ridley,  silent  beneath  its  frozen 
surface,  the  falls  hushed,  the  pool  of  the  otters  partially 
veiled  in  lengthening  shadows.  A  midwinter  rain,  blow- 
ing up  unexpectedly  the  night  before,  had  turned  to  sleet, 
then  frozen  in  a  change  of  weather.  The  result  was 
the  loveliest  of  nature's  pageantries — a  twilight  forest 
transformed  by  the  magic  of  an  ice  storm.  Luckily  the 
wind  had  been  low  and  few  branches  had  broken  beneath 
their  silvery  burden.  Snow  had  not  yet  fallen. 

Bob  had  no  thought  for  that,  however.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  and,  storm  or  no,  he  would  see  to  his  traps. 
The  boy's  eyes  were  ahead,  searching  through  the  bushes 
and  tree  trunks,  darting  here  and  there  over  the  pond, 
keen  and  eager  for  signs.  Suddenly  he  broke  through 
the  glass-like  wands  of  the  undergrowth,  and  slid  with 
a  rush  down  the  slope  of  the  pool.  At  the  bank,  he 
stopped,  heart  running  high  in  excitement.  Had  the  new 
trap  been  sprung?  Could  luck  have  come  to  him  at  last? 

Bob  had  learned  a  deal  of  woodcraft  since  that  day, 
so  many  weeks  before,  when  he  and  Dave  had  made  their 
set  for  coon  in  the  hollow  log  near  Hunting  Hill.  He 
had  come  to  love  the  chance  of  it  all,  the  good  luck  and 
the  bad,  the  skill  of  his  hands  and  brain  against  the 


THE  LOG  SET  259 

greater  cunning  of  the  wild  creatures  he  sought  to  snare. 
He  had  tasted,  too,  the  surpassing  zest  of  being  put  upon 
his  mettle.  He  liked  that,  especially.  It  stirred  up  the 
manhood  in  him,  made  him  feel  that  fighting  urge  which 
comes  to  every  healthy  boy,  spurring  him  on  to  see  a 
thing  through,  however  difficult;  once  he  has  begun  it. 

The  great  Ridley  otter,  that  savage  old  lord  of  the 
brook,  was  still  at  large,  still  leaving  its  tracks,  five-toed, 
deep-printed,  boldly  defiant,  all  about  the  banks.  That 
was  as  much,  however,  as  Bob  ever  saw  of  it.  Those 
same  tracks  had  come  to  mean  a  sort  of  challenge  to 
him.  Their  very  individuality  marked  them  as  apart 
from  the  other  tracks  and  trails  he  had  followed.  They 
had  tempted  him  into  the  woodland  many  a  day  by 
himself.  They  had  led  him  to  slip  away  from  Dave, 
whenever  he  could  do  so  without  the  other's  knowledge, 
and  trudge  far  up  Ridley  toward  Button's  Mill,  there  to 
stalk  the  pond  with  all  the  patience  of  an  Indian,  to  lie 
for  hours  in  the  cold  and  wind,  to  try  trick  after  trick, 
set  after  set,  seeking  the  one  that  might  take  the  old 
otter,  for  the  nonce,  off  guard.  Bob  meant  to  get  that 
particular  otter,  if  it  took  all  winter.  The  lad  was  the 
more  determined  because  he  felt  that  Dave  had  given 
up  the  game  as  useless,  that  his  comrade  was  contenting 
himself  with  joking  at  his  expense.  The  older  boy  was 
quite  wrong  there,  but  the  thought  drove  him  doggedly 
on  in  the  face  of  repeated  failure. 

The  thing  had  started  the  night  they  had  escaped  from 
the  cave  at  Castle  Rock,  when  Bob  had  foolishly  boasted 
of  a  scheme  that  could  not  fail.  Unfortunately,  like 
many  other  fine  projects  in  the  world,  it  had  failed,  failed 


26o  SANDY  FLASH 

not  merely  once  but  several  times.  Since  then,  the  boy, 
with  true  Scotch  determination,  had  had  scant  peace  of 
mind.  -When  Dave  had  gotten  the  stag,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  last  straw  had  come.  That  was  several  weeks 
ago.  To-day,  Bob  had  come  down  to  the  pond  with 
more  anxiety  than  ever.  He  had  done  his  level  best.  If 
his  last  plan  failed,  he  knew  of  nothing  more  he  could 
try. 

He  had  made  use  of  every  wile,  every  trick  of  trapping, 
every  kind  of  set  and  cunning  snare  that  he  could  think 
of.  He  had  laid  traps  in  the  otter  slide  itself.  He  had 
hidden  them  above  the  slide  and  in  the  hole  up  the  bank, 
and  again,  along  the  water's  edge.  He  had  even  built 
crafty  cubbies  and  despairingly  concealed  sets  in  them, 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  Sometimes  he  had  been  successful 
in  catching  other  game,  but  never  the  giant  otter  on 
which  he  had  put  his  heart.  Mink  and  muskrat  were  all 
very  well,  welcome  enough  in  the  race  for  pelts  he  was 
running  with  Dave,  but  the  big  king  otter  was  what  he 
felt  he  needed  to  offset  the  stag  of  Hunting  Hill.  Nothing 
else  could  quite  do  that. 

The  nearest  he  had  come  to  luck  was  the  day  when 
he  had  caught  a  small  male  otter  by  trapping  in  the 
short-cut  that  the  animals  used  overland  from  one  bend 
in  the  stream  to  another.  Even  then,  the  catch  was 
marred  by  the  thought  that  Dave  it  was  who  had  told 
him  of  this  otter  characteristic  and  put  the  particular 
scheme  in  mind.  Back  of  all  his  efforts  lay  the  knowledge 
that  the  men  of  the  army  were  freezing,  literally  freezing 
to  death,  through  lack  of  proper  clothing  to  turn  the 
chills  of  winter.  Bob  Allyn  was  going  to  catch  that  otter 


THE  LOG  SET  261 

and  take  its  skin  to  Valley  Forge  if  it  was  the  last  thing 
he  ever  did. 

To-day's  outlay  was  different  from  any  he  had  tried 
before.  It  was  Bob's  very  own.  The  lad  halted  at  the 
edge  of  the  thinly  frozen  pond  and  scanned  the  surface 
dubiously.  Last  night's  rain  had  touched  everything  with 
a  sheath  of  silver,  but  the  ice  of  the  dam  was  pitted  and 
mushy  beneath.  Bob  tested  it  with  practised  toe.  It 
bent  a  bit,  straining  and  groaning,  as  ice  sometimes  will, 
but  he  knew  it  would  hold.  Slowly,  cautiously,  he  began 
to  edge  along  over  the  treacherous  going  toward  a  log, 
a  poplar  trunk,  that  lay  embedded  well  out  toward  the 
middle.  Peering  forward  through  the  shadows  that  fast 
were  veiling  the  ravine,  the  boy  sought  vainly  to  mark 
the  set  at  the  end  of  the  log,  but  snow  clouds  had  sud- 
denly blotted  the  flare  of  sunset.  He  could  distinguish 
nothing  very  clearly.  He  would  have  to  work  his  way 
out  to  the  poplar  itself. 

Bob's  final  try  for  the  otter  was  the  cleverest  thing 
he  had  done  since  he  had  taken  to  trapping  in  the  fall 
of  the  year.  The  lad  had  hit  upon  the  unique  scheme 
of  setting  his  trap  in  the  poplar  log,  not  on  it.  Actually 
sunken  in  the  top  of  the  wood  itself.  He  had  gone  out 
to  the  log  and  worked  there  in  safety  despite  the  un- 
certainty of  the  ice.  That  had  been  before  the  rain. 
Otter  droppings  at  the  very  end  of  that  poplar  had  caught 
his  eye  the  time  he  and  Dave  had  first  come  up  Ridley 
and  seen  the  giant  tracks.  The  boy  thus  had  as  a  founda- 
tion for  his  set  the  knowledge  that  otters  were  in  the 
habit  of  climbing  on  that  particular  log.  His  first  try, 
the  simple  trick  of  putting  a  trap  on  top  of  it  for  them, 


262  SANDY  FLASH 

had  failed  utterly,  discouragingly.  Now,  however,  he 
had  developed  the  idea.  He  had  cut  away  a  thin  slab 
of  moss,  half  a  foot  or  so  from  the  end.  Then  he  had 
gouged  out  the  bark  and  wood  beneath  until  he  had 
made  a  little  depression  as  deep  as  he  needed.  Setting 
the  trap  in  it,  he  had  carefully  replaced  a  thin  cover  of 
moss,  taking  care  to  conceal  the  chain,  too,  in  a  groove 
cut  in  like  fashion.  When  he  had  finished,  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  detect  any  sign  of  the  set.  Bob  had  finally 
baited  his  snare  by  putting  a  branch  of  popple,  a  tender, 
new-growth  shoot,  on  the  log  a  foot  above  the  spot  where 
the  trap  lay  hidden.  He  had  found  some  gnawed  sticks 
of  that  wood  one  day  near  the  pool  and  rightly  judged 
that  the  otters  liked  to  chew  the  bark.  Whether  they 
would  touch  it  in  winter,  he  did  not  know. 

It  was  as  well  thought  out  a  plan  as  any  woodsman 
could  boast  of.  Best  of  all,  the  lad  had  used  his  own 
good  brains  in  building  it  up,  one  point  after  another, 
the  whole  thing  founded  upon  his  first-hand  observation 
of  the  habits  of  the  animal  he  was  after.  Bob  Allyn  felt 
a  little  glow  of  pride  as  he  edged  out  over  the  pond.  If 
he  did  succeed,  if  his  woodcraft  made  good,  why,  Dave 
himself  would  have  to  yield  the  trapping  prize  to  him. 
It  would  outweigh  the  lucky  shot  that  won  the  stag,  for 
this  was  work,  not  luck,  from  start  to  finish.  The  film 
of  ice  about  the  log  was  the  only  bit  of  luck  in  his  favor. 
That  must  have  killed  his  scent  as  well  as  the  warning 
taint  of  metal.  On  the  other  hand,  he  feared  it  might 
have  served  to  lock  the  trap  and  prevent  its  closing  fast 
enough. 

Bob  moved  forward  another  foot,  then  tried  to  halt, 


THE  LOG  SET  263 

as  the  slippery  surface  beneath  snapped  unexpectedly  with 
a  loud  report.  It  was  not  bending  now,  it  was  splitting 
away  from  him  in  alarming  cracks.  Like  snakes,  he  saw 
the  fissures  opening  in  twisting  lines  of  black  against 
the  sheen  of  ice.  He  watched  them  a  moment  fascinated, 
those  widening  cracks,  noting  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the 
water  as  it  welled  up  through  the  rending  edges.  Then, 
wise  in  the  ways  of  a  country  boy,  he  dropped  flat  on  his 
stomach  and  squirmed  crablike  for  the  log,  attempting 
to  distribute  his  weight  over  as  great  a  spread  as  he  could 
and  at  the  same  time  keep  his  body  in  motion.  It  was 
his  one  chance.  Even  as  he  fought  to  save  himself  from 
the  yielding  ice  and  the  black  depths  of  the  pool  be- 
neath, Bob's  eyes  peered  toward  the  end  of  the  fallen  tree. 
He  could  not  see  the  trap;  it  was  too  dark.  The  waters 
of  Ridley  rolled  up  and  all  support  seemed  to  drop  away 
below.  The  boy  kept  his  head,  struggling  madly  against 
the  paralyzing  cold.  He  knew  if  he  once  went  under  in 
that  current,  he  would  be  drawn  far  downstream  toward 
the  dam  where  ice  was  thicker.  That  meant  death,  death 
beneath  a  roof  he  could  not  break.  A  rat  drowning  in  a 
trap! 

Bob  in  sudden  terror  gripped  at  the  slippery  edge  be- 
fore him.  It  crumbled  away,  mushy,  in  his  grasp.  His 
water-logged  clothing,  heavy  homespun,  drew  him  stead- 
ily downward,  irresistible,  all  the  weightier  for  the  sucking 
tug  of  the  stream  about  his  booted  feet.  He  made  a 
herculean  effort  to  resist,  to  keep  afloat  by  savage  strength, 
thrashing  out  wildly,  all  judgment  gone  in  a  panic  oi 
fear.  The  boy's  head  went  under. 


264  SANDY  FLASH 

It  must  have  been  well  after  eight  o'clock  that  night 
when  Dave  Thomas  met  his  chum's  horse  coming  rider- 
less into  the  lane,  head  tossed  high,  broken  reins  lashing 
from  side  to  side.  The  storm  had  rushed  down  from  the 
northwest  in  fury  two  hours  earlier,  driving  the  snow  in 
vicious  drifts  before  it,  uprooting  the  ice-laden  trees, 
tearing  loose  great  branches  from  the  oaks  themselves, 
crushing  young  apples  and  pears  in  the  orchard  to  ruin. 
It  was  no  night  for  any  one  to  be  abroad.  Luck  alone 
had  sent  the  terrified  animal  to  the  shelter  of  the  Thomas 
barn,  just  as  Dave  came  out  of  it.  Nine  times  out  of 
ten,  the  horse  would  have  turned  aside  at  Blue  Hill  and 
sought  its  own  stable,  but  to-night  it  had  come  to  the 
other  familiar  barn.  Dave  had  gone  down  there  to  see 
that  all  was  well  for  the  night  against  the  blizzard,  and 
he  now  was  struggling,  head  held  low,  to  regain  the 
house.  A  glance  sufficed  him.  Bob  must  have  been  hurt 
somewheres.  Either  the  horse  had  slipped  and  thrown 
him  or  he  had  been  struck  by  a  falling  branch.  It  was 
trouble  of  some  sort,  clearly,  and  desperately  serious. 

Dave  was  a  quick  thinker.  He  already  knew  that  his 
chum  had  ridden  up  toward  Goshen  Meeting  that  morning, 
expecting  to  be  back  before  dark.  He  knew  it  because 
John  Allyn  had  stopped  in  at  the  Thomas  farmhouse  late 
that  afternoon  to  see  his  father.  While  there,  he  had 
mentioned  to  Dave  that  Bob  was  off  on  an  all-day  errand 
in  connection  with  a  cattle  sale.  The  big  farmer  had 
added  further  that  the  boy  spoke  of  something  he  hoped 
to  attend  to  at  the  MacAfees' — some  trapping  thing  or 
other,  he  thought  it  was,  with  the  man  there. 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done  now.    Dave's  mind 


THE  LOG  SET  265 

was  working  at  lightning  speed.  Get  over  to  Edgemont 
without  delay,  see  if  Bob  had  gotten  that  far  on  his  way 
home,  then,  if  he  had  not;  set  out  on  the  road  toward 
Button's  Mill,  with  Cunningham  along  to  help.  Dave, 
"for  all  his  quiet  ways,  could  put  plenty  of  action  into  play 
once  he  realized  the  need  for  it.  Catching  the  ripped 
reins  of  Bob's  horse,  he  knotted  them  fast,  swung  to 
the  saddle,  turned  the  unwilling  beast  hard  about  and 
plunged  doggedly  through  the  mounting  drifts  for  Provi- 
dence Road.  Not  till  he  was  well  past  Blue  Hill,  brought 
almost  to  a  standstill  by  the  lash  of  the  wind  and  the 
cut  of  snow  in  his  face,  did  he  remember  that  he  had 
left  no  word  with  his  people.  It  was  too  late  now,  how- 
ever, and  the  boy  sunk  his  head  deeper  between  the  collar 
of  his  coat  and  kept  on.  Unconsciously,  he  noted  his 
progress  by  the  ancient  markers  of  the  wayside — the  few 
remaining  sentinels  of  the  Hollingsworth  Apples.  He 
could  not  get  back  now,  even  if  he  wanted  to.  It  was 
all  he  could  hope  for  to  reach  the  MacAfees'  and  leave 
the  exhausted  horse  there. 

Just  how  he  ever  did  manage  to  make  the  little  farm 
near  Castle  Rock  Dave  never  knew.  The  last  few  hun- 
dred yards  from  Edgemont  crossways,  he  covered  on 
foot,  plunging  and  staggering  about  in  the  snow,  dragging 
the  sullen  horse  along  behind  him  by  the  bridle  reins. 
Twice  the  animal  fell  headlong  in  a  drift  and  Dave  had 
all  he  could  do  to  get  him  on  his  feet  again.  The  lad 
was  ready  to  give  up,  conquered  by  the  cold,  the  smother- 
ing beat  of  the  wind,  and  the  snow  about  his  feet  that 
held  him  back  so  cruelly,  when  at  last  he  viewed  lights 
in  the  MacAfee  windows.  They  were  far  off  and  looked 


266  SANDY  FLASH 

the  size  of  sixpence,  but  they  gave  him  new  courage. 
That,  and  the  thought  of  Bob.  Perhaps,  even  now,  his 
comrade  was  lying  out  in  this  storm,  pinned  beneath  some 
crippling  bough,  dying  slowly  under  the  savage  whip 
of  the  wind,  the  cold  no  life  could  long  resist.  Dave 
struggled  toward  the  welcome  gleam,  little  guessing  the 
truth. 

At  the  farm  lane,  the  boy  turned  in  to  the  north, 
shutting  his  eyes  against  the  driving  gale.  He  would  stall 
his  mount  first,  then  run  for  the  house  and  Cunningham's 
help.  The  stable  shed  lay  to  the  rear,  a  little  way  uphill. 
Dave  hurried  on,  new  strength  coming  to  him,  as  he 
neared  his  goal.  Even  the  horse,  nearly  done  for,  now 
plunged  through  the  drifts  with  some  show  of  effort; 
he,  too,  sensed  shelter  ahead.  They  came  at  last,  half 
blind,  numb,  weak  with  chill,  the  pair  of  them,  into  the 
lee  of  the  stable,  rough-hewn  of  logs  dovetailed  together. 

Dave  entered,  struggling,  gasping,  rubbing  his  eyes 
clear.  Then  he  felt  for  a  tying  shank.  There  was  no 
time  to  lose.  The  place  was  dim-gray,  indistinct,  hazy 
with  light  from  the  snow  without.  He  could  hear  other 
horses  near  him,  munching  steadily,  grinding  away  at 
their  hay.  Now  and  then  one  of  them  shifted  restlessly 
in  the  deep  straw  or  paused,  gulping,  to  lip  more  fodder 
from  the  rack.  It  was  a  comfortable,  reassuring  sort  of 
sound,  one  that  he  knew  well.  The  boy's  vitality  quick- 
ened on  the  instant  to  the  warm,  moist  air  of  the  place, 
the  animal  heat,  the  momentary  let-up  from  the  sav- 
agery of  the  blizzard  without.  He  would  tether  the 
horse,  as  soon  as  he  could  find  that  provoking  shank. 
He  knew  it  was  there.  Then  with  Cunningham,  he  would 


THE  LOG  SET  267 

— Dave  ducked  and  flung  up  his  arm.  Why  he  did  so, 
he  could  not  say,  but  that  instinctive  warding  of  a  blow, 
that  defense  quicker  than  mind  can  function,  saved  his 
life. 

A  man  had  sprung  at  the  lad  from  the  shadow  of  the 
stalls,  without  warning,  without  sound,  aiming  a  vicious, 
crushing  blow  for  his  head.  Dave's  quickness  in  dodg- 
ing, as  the  shadow  filled  the  doorway,  allowed  the  club 
to  whistle  harmlessly  past  him.  It  flew  from  the  fellow's 
grip  with  its  own  momentum.  They  closed  on  the  in- 
stant. Dave  was  too  startled,  too  bewildered,  to  under- 
stand at  all  what  was  happening,  but  he  knew  that  he 
must  fight  and  fight  for  his  very  life.  That  was  enough. 
The  struggling  pair  toppled  over,  each  striving  to  get 
some  purchase  on  the  other,  as  they  rolled  about  in  the 
straw. 

Dave  was  never  more  fit  in  his  life.  Farm  chores 
had  steeled  his  muscles,  sweated  out  the  fat.  Outdoor 
work  and  sport,  day  in,  day  out,  under  every  sort  of 
weather,  about  the  place  and  in  the  forest,  had  tough- 
ened him  amazingly,  blending  leanness  with  a  deceiving 
power  of  speed.  Clean,  straight  living  had  lent  him  en- 
durance and  the  grit  to  hang  on.  He  felt  the  man  trying 
for  his  throat  and  fought  the  harder.  The  boy  had  passed 
sixteen  this  January  and  knew  a  thing  or  two  about 
a  rough-and-tumble.  He  twisted  clear,  leaving  half  his 
coat  and  the  shirt  beneath  it  in  the  fellow's  fingers. 
An  instant  later,  they  had  closed  again,  this  time  the 
boy  getting  in  a  smashing  blow  on  the  other's  body  before 
the  clinch. 

Over  and  over  went  the  two  of  them,  their  breath*com- 


268  SANDY  FLASH 

ing  in  short  grunts,  their  lungs  straining  for  air,  as  first 
one,  then  the  other,  rolled  deep  in  the  stifling  straw  dust. 
That  was  the  worst  of  it.  Dave  managed,  for  the  time 
being,  to  save  his  throat  from  the  man's  attack,  some 
instinct  warning  him  to  fight  first  for  that.  At  the  same 
instant,  he  put  his  own  good  fists  to  use,  jabbing  repeated 
blows  with  either  arm  into  his  assailant.  He  struck  and 
struck  hard  at  short  range,  smashing  for  all  he  had  in 
him  at  face  and  jaw  and  kidneys.  At  every  opening, 
he  struck.  Not  that  he  did  not  suffer  in  return.  The 
man,  missing  his  try  for  the  lad's  throat,  fought  for  his 
unfair  hold  again,  now  going  after  the  boy's  eyes  to 
gouge  them. 

Once  his  fingers  got  purchase  about  Dave's  hand.  Be- 
fore the  boy  could  wrench  it  free,  the  right  thumb  had 
been  snapped  back  and  crippled.  An  old  trick  and 
vicious,  excruciatingly  painful,  sickening  one  with  nerve 
shock.  The  ruffian's  fight  was  foul  from  start  to  finish 
while  Dave's  previous  struggle  with  cold  and  wind  and 
punishment  of  snow  had  taken  his  strength,  sapped  his 
power  of  reserve.  But  he  fought  on,  the  boy  did — dumbly, 
warily,  watching  for  openings,  instant  to  take  advantage 
of  them. 

Two  minutes  more  and  the  man  and  boy  were  blown 
— winded  to  a  deadlock — fast  rolled  in  a  clinch,  Dave 
below,  stretched  half  in,  half  out,  the  shed  door,  the 
other  lying  heavily  upon  him.  The  boy  still  kept  his 
hold  on  the  man's  wrist,  however,  as  they  both  gasped 
and  strained  for  the  fresher,  snow-chilled  air  outside. 
Dave's  face  was  blackened  with  dust  and  dirt,  scratched 
with  savage  rips  from  the  man's  fingers.  A  smear  of 


THE  LOG  SET  269 

blood  ran  from  his  mouth  where  his  lip  was  torn.  A 
fist  blow  had  done  that,  but  the  lad  had  saved  his  jaw 
and  chin  in  time.  He  knew  the  vital  nerve  centers  and 
guarded  them  like  a  clever  boxer.  His  clothes,  such 
rags  as  still  were  left  him,  hung  in  patches.  The  thumb 
was  a  stab  of  fiery  torture.  But  the  man  on  top  was 
little  better  off. 

A  faint  gleam  from  the  storm  penetrated  the  open 
door  and  Dave  saw  the  face  above  him,  clearly,  distinctly, 
for  the  first  time.  It  was  disfigured  with  blood  and 
bruises,  matted  with  stubbled  beard  and  dirt,  yet  unmis- 
takable. 

Mordecai  Dougherty!  The  accomplice  of  Sandy  Flash! 
The  man  who  had  so  nearly  taken  their  lives  the  day 
he  and  Bob  had  been  seized  by  the  highwaymen!  In  a 
flash,  the  lad  recalled  the  cedar  thicket  and  the  cowardly 
attack  upon  them  there.  Then  the  later  terror  of  the 
cave  at  Castle  Rock! 

A  convulsive,  wrenching  turn  took  the  outlaw  off  guard. 
Over  they  rolled  again,  kicking,  striking,  tearing  like  brute 
beasts  while  the  straw  chaff  rose  in  choking  clouds  about 
them.  Dave  saw  that  the  man  was  desperate.  He  knew 
that  he  could  look  for  no  mercy.  If  he  died  for  it,  the 
boy  was  determined  to  pay  off  his  old  score  first.  Blind 
with  rage,  sucking  for  air,  spitting  out  dirt  and  blood, 
his  flesh  slippery  with  sweat  and  grime,  torn  bare  to  the 
waist  and  gleaming,  the  lad  writhed  and  twisted,  struck 
and  kicked,  madly  spending  his  strength  to  gain  a  telling 
hold,  to  land  a  crippling  blow.  He  had  no  plan.  He 
fought  as  a  trapped  beast  fights — to  save  his  life.  It 
was  not  a  nice  thing  to  see. 


270  SANDY  FLASH 

Suddenly  Dougherty's  hand,  quick  drawn  for  a  smash 
to  the  face,  touched  the  club  he  had  dropped  at  the  first 
rush  of  the  boy.  His  fingers  closed  upon  it  and  he  uttered 
a  grunting  sort  of  laugh.  Dave  saw  the  move  and  struck 
upward  with  his  crippled  right,  lashing  out  despite  the 
torture  in  the  tendon,  every  nerve  and  sinew  and  well 
of  grit  in  his  body  backing  up  the  blow.  It  fell  short. 

Dougherty  swung  the  bludgeon. 

At  that  very  instant,  two  hundred  yards  down  the  lane, 
Bob  Allyn  was  picking  himself  out  of  a  snowdrift  into 
which  he  had  fallen.  The  boy  was  bitterly  cold,  weary 
with  tramping.  Angry,  too,  at  the  loss  of  his  horse  and 
the  ducking  he  had  met  with  in  Ridley.  That  had  been 
the  worst,  of  course,  and  he  realized,  even  in  his  disgust, 
that  he  should  the  rather  feel  thankful  for  his  life.  Just 
in  time,  as  he  had  gone  under  the  water  and  the  ice 
fragments  had  closed  above  his  head,  Bob's  struggle  had 
brought  him  in  touch  with  a  branch  of  the  submerged 
poplar  trunk.  It  had  been  an  easy  matter  then  for  a  lad 
of  his  strength  to  pull  up  on  it  and  so  to  shore. 

Half  an  hour  in  the  Duttons'  kitchen  by  the  mill  saw 
him  warmed  and  dry  in  borrowed  clothes.  Then,  against 
the  protests  of  the  miller,  he  had  started  for  home,  riding 
away  just  as  the  first  snow  flurries  began  to  dance  down 
the  upland  meadows  from  Rocky  Hill.  They  soon  cov- 
ered the  icy  going  of  the  old  Boot  Road  and  led  Bob 
into  a  false  feeling  of  safety.  He  quickened  his  pace. 
By  Fairie  Hill,  he  and  the  horse  came  down  together 
in  a  scrambling  pile,  luckily  unhurt,  save  for  a  bruised 
knee.  Before  the  boy  could  get  to  his  feet,  the  animal, 
already  cold  and  fidgeting  under  the  long  delay  of  the 


THE  LOG  SET  271 

ride,  had  broken  free.  It  was  sullen  lad  enough  who  heard 
the  hoofbeats  throb  to  silence  off  where  White  Horse  Hill 
bulked  gray  before  him  through  the  blinding  scuds  of 
snow.  There  was  nothing  now  save  walking  and  Bob 
set  about  it  with  the  best  grace  he  could  muster. 

The  storm,  coming  as  it  did  from  his  back,  helped 
a  bit,  but  the  wind  and  drifts  soon  convinced  him  that 
he  would  never  make  Sycamore  Mills  that  night.  Nor 
the  Rose  Tree  either.  He  had  suffered  more  shock  than 
he  had  reckoned  with,  plunging  into  Ridley  through  the 
ice.  Wisely,  he  turned  aside  at  Edgemont.  He  would 
put  up  at  the  MacAfees'  overnight,  then  on  in  the  morn- 
ing for  home.  As  to  the  horse,  he  could  do  nothing 
about  that  now.  The  contrary  brute  had  taken  things 
its  own  way  and  would  have  to  face  the  storm  as  best 
it  might.  Bob  heaved  himself  from  the  snow  of  the 
lane  and  struggled  onward.  The  lighted  windows  of  the 
farmhouse  looked  mighty  inviting  and  warm,  a  fair  haven 
in  need.  The  boy  had  faced  about  all  he  could  stand 
for  one  day.  And  he  knew  it. 

He  saw  by  the  time  he  had  neared  the  building  that 
the  good  people  had  not  gone  to  bed  as  early  as  usual. 
Doubtless  William  MacAfee  and  his  wife  were  making 
the  most  of  their  son's  leave — Captain  Robert  MacAfee, 
of  the  Continental  Line.  Bob  had  heard  that  he  was 
there  for  a  day  or  two.  Rachel  Walker,  a  neighbor  from 
Tredyffrin,  in  the  Valley,  was  also  stopping  with  them 
on  a  visit.  Dave  Thomas  had  told  him  so.  Cunningham, 
as  keen  a  trapper  as  the  boys  themselves,  and  their  rare 
good  friend,  to  boot,  made  the  fifth  of  the  little  Edgemont 
household. 


272  SANDY  FLASH 

Bob  glanced  through  a  window  as  he  fought  his  way 
round  to  the  kitchen  in  the  rear,  mildly  surprised  to  see 
no  one  within.  It  was  too  cold  for  delay,  however,  so 
he  pushed  at  the  door  without  knocking,  glad  to  find  it 
unlatched  this  late  at  night.  He  entered,  blowing  on 
his  numbed  hands,  relieved,  yet  vaguely  puzzled.  Foot- 
steps overhead  caught  his  attention  and  he  crossed  to 
the  stairway.  Something  was  wrong.  Somebody  must 
have  been  taken  ill — and  seriously.  The  confusion  of 
the  room,  the  opened  drawers  in  the  dresser,  the  people 
all  above,  pointed  to  that.  Could  the  Captain  have  been 
brought  home  wounded?  Surely  he  would  have  heard 
of  that?  The  boy  hesitated,  then  set  foot  on  the  lower 
step.  He  would  call  softly  and  see  if —  At  that  very 
moment  there  came  a  thud  overhead,  followed  instantly 
by  a  scream  and  the  sound  of  a  struggle,  terrifying  in 
its  sudden  shattering  of  silence.  Bob  Allyn  sprang  up 
the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time. 

Reaching  the  room  above,  he  saw  a  sight  that  mo- 
mentarily paralyzed  him,  halting  him,  breathless,  at  the 
door,  unable  for  the  moment  to  take  in  what  was  happen- 
ing. Captain  MacAfee,  in  his  stocking  feet,  the  buff  and 
blue  tunic  of  his  uniform  off,  was  close  locked  in  a  fero- 
cious struggle  with  another  man,  toppling  here  and  there 
about  the  room,  upsetting  chairs,  crashing  into  the  table, 
threatening  with  every  move  to  bring  the  plaster  from 
the  walls.  Mistress  McAfee,  his  mother,  death-white 
with  terror,  the  back  of  her  hand  pressed  to  her  mouth, 
crouched  in  a  corner.  Her  scream  had  come  to  the  boy 
below.  Now,  she  was  too  frightened  to  utter  a  sound. 


THE  LOG  SET  273 

William  MacAfee,  the  husband,  lay  struggling  on  the 
floor,  piteously  trying  to  rise.  Not  at  her,  however, 
nor  at  the  old  man,  did  Bob  gaze  in  astonishment  before 
hurling  himself  into  the  fight.  The  fellow  in  the  grip  of 
the  Continental  officer  was  Sandy  Flash!  The  high- 
wayman himself!  Fast  about  the  scoundrel's  waist  hung 
Rachel  Walker,  hampering  him,  dragging  him  down, 
bravely  pinning  his  arms  in  a  twist  of  the  coverlet  snatched 
from  the  bed! 

The  boy,  after  that  startled  pause,  regained  his  pres- 
ence of  mind  and  leaped  through  the  door  to  help.  He 
reached  the  men  just  as  Flash  lost  balance  and  fell. 
The  captain  was  on  him  like  a  shot.  Rachel  Walker, 
as  quick  to  seize  her  chance  and  follow  it  up,  whipped 
the  coverlet  over  his  head,  drawing  it  tight  about  him, 
smothering  him  in  its  folds.  She  was  a  young  woman  and 
strong. 

Before  Bob  could  do  more  than  grip  at  Flash's  free 
arm,  as  it  flailed  and  lashed  about  in  vicious  blows,  be- 
fore he  could  fairly  get  his  weight  on  it  to  help  the  cap- 
tain, the  night  without  roared  to  the  discharge  of  a  flint- 
lock. The  glass  of  a  casement  tinkled  sharply  below. 
Captain  MacAfee,  still  fighting  desperately  for  the  out- 
law's wrists,  called  sharply  to  his  mother: 

"The  gun!  His  pistol!  Give  it  to  the  boy!  Quick, 
you,  fire  down  the  stairs  when  they  rush  us!  Shout  for 
Cunningham!  Call  for  help!" 

He  redoubled  his  effort  to  hold  the  man  straining  so 
savagely  beneath  him.  Sandy  Flash  fought  like  one  pos- 
sessed. His  strength  was  incredible,  but  the  bed  cover- 


274  SANDY  FLASH 

ing  smothered  and  meshed  him  for  the  time  being.  A 
pistol,  evidently  his,  lay  on  the  floor  beyond  the  elder 
MacAfee. 

The  urgency  of  the  captain's  voice  brought  the  old 
lady  to  her  senses.  As  Bob  cocked  the  weapon  she  thrust 
into  his  hand,  he  heard  voices  below.  And  hurried  steps. 
A  door  slammed.  He  was  just  in  time!  They  were 
rushing  the  house  already —  The  lad  ran  for  the  stair- 
head. Then  he  dropped  his  pistol  arm,  quite  limply,  and 
fell  back,  amazement  rendering  him  speechless.  Dave 
Thomas  was  leaping  toward  him  up  the  steps,  blackened 
face  scarcely  recognizable  for  blood  and  dirt.  Close  be- 
hind him  sprang  Cunninghim,  his  eyes  wide  with  anxiety 
and  fright.  Bob  cried  out  sharply: 

"Dave!    What  the— I  say—" 

"He's  gotten  away!"  The  boy's  excitement  had  driven 
his  original  fear  for  Bob  entirely  from  his  mind.  Indeed, 
he  had  forgotten  what  had  brought  him  to  Edgemont, 
and  that  he  had  looked  for  no  such  meeting  with  his 
chum  here.  "Fired  through  the  window  and  galloped  off 
in  the  storm!  Dougherty,  it  was,  Flash's  man!"  The 
younger  lad,  still  panting,  half  naked,  foul  with  the  sweat 
and  grime  of  his  struggle,  held  out  a  rusty  sword.  "Look, 
Bob,  he  dropped  this  as  he  ran!  In  the  snow!  What's 
— how  did  you  happen — " 

He  stopped  as  his  eyes  for  the  first  time  caught  sight 
of  Rachel  Walker  and  the  captain  still  struggling  over 
the  writhing  form  on  the  floor.  Old  William  MacAfee 
had  crawled  to  his  knees,  blood  trickling  down  the  side 
of  his  face.  The  man  was  dazed,  evidently  in  a  good 
deal  of  pain. 


THE  LOG  SET  275 

"It's  Flash  himself!"  Bob,  recalled  to  the  urgency  of 
the  moment,  found  voice  and  shouted  excitedly.  "We've 
got  him  down!  Quick,  Cunningham,  help!  I  say,  Dave, 
let  me  past — " 

The  serving  man  and  the  boy  sprang  through  the  door 
in  answer,  quick  to  aid,  while  Bob,  pistol  in  hand,  rushed 
by  them  down  the  stairs.  The  lad  was  fully  awake  to 
their  danger.  His  job  it  was  to  bolt  and  bar  the  house 
and  do  it  soon.  Before  Dougherty  could  return  to  help 
his  chief. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Captain  MacAfee  finished  telling 
the  boys  of  the  attack,  as  he  sat  in  the  kitchen,  flintlock 
on  knee,  guarding  Sandy  Flash.  The  outlaw  lay  on 
the  floor,  across  the  room,  trussed  hand  and  foot,  quite 
helpless,  white  with  impotent  fury.  The  part  that  Rachel 
Walker  had  played  in  his  capture,  the  realization  that 
a  woman  and  a  boy  had  helped  to  overcome  him,  mad- 
dened him  to  rage  unspeakable.  Cunningham  had  ridden 
off  as  fast  as  he  could  through  the  drifts,  to  summon 
aid  and  alarm  the  neighbors.  Before  he  left,  he  prom- 
ised both  boys  that  he  would  get  reassuring  word  passed 
on  to  their  parents,  so  that  they  could  ease  their  mind 
on  that  score  and  not  worry  about  anxiety  at  home.  The 
women  were  above  with  William  MacAfee,  seeing  to 
the  wound  in  the  old  man's  head.  Dave  and  Bob  had 
explained  their  presence  in  the  house  to  their  mutual  en- 
lightenment, while  they  were  helping  barricade  the  lower 
story.  They  were  taking  no  chances  on  Mordecai  Dough- 
erty's return. 

"I'd  been  sitting  quiet  all  evening  here  in  the  kitchen 


276  SANDY  FLASH 

with  my  folks,  the  old  people,  you  know,  making  the 
most  of  a  short  leave  from  the  Forge.  That  blackguard 
yonder  knocked  at  the  door."  Captain  MacAfee  glanced 
toward  the  figure  on  the  floor.  "Cunningham  had  gone 
out  some  time  before.  I  let  that  ruffian  in,  thinking 
he  must  be  some  neighbor  caught  in  the  storm.  Never 
suspicioned  a  thing!  He  pulled  a  pistol  on  me  instanter! 
Said  he'd  come  round  to  levy  dues  on  cursed  rebels! 
My  share,  he  allowed,  was  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds! 
Sterling,  at  that!  Likely  I'd  have  it!  Then  he  drove 
us  all  before  him  up  the  stairs.  I  couldn't  draw  sword 
nor  pistol,  for  the  fellow's  weapon  at  my  back!  He  or- 
dered us  about  and  fairly  plundered  the  house,  looking 
for  money.  What  little  we  had  was  hidden  well.  Finally, 
he  struck  me  with  his  butt  and  told  me  to  take  the  very 
pumps  from  off  my  feet  and  give  'em  to  him!  I  had  to! 
As  he  was  trying  'em  on,  one  foot  resting  on  the  bed, 
Rachel  Walker,  my  mother's  friend  upstairs,  she  grabbed 
the  pistol  from  his  fist!  Bravest  thing  I  ever  saw!  I 
jumped  in  to  help  and  so  did  father.  He  hit  that  old 
man  before  I  could  get  at  him!  Hit  him  good  and  hard, 
too!  You  saw  the  rest.  Rachel  Walker  had  lots  of 
nerve!" 

Captain  MacAfee's  face  set  sternly  a  moment.  Then 
he  ended  his  story.  "She  took  him  off  his  guard,  but 
you  came  in  the  nick  of  time  to  pull  us  through.  With- 
out your  coming  when  you  did,  Bob  Allyn,  I'd  have  had 
my  hands  full,  and  to  spare!  That  man's  like  a  bull 
o'  Bashan!  I'd  never  have  kept  him  down  alone.  To 
say  nothing  of  the  other  scoundrel  getting  upstairs  to  help! 


I   couldn't  draw  sword   nor  pistol   for  the  fellow's  pistol  at 

my  back. 


THE  LOG  SET  277 

Owe  that  part  to  you,  Dave,  my  friend."    He  glanced 
across  the  room. 

Dave  shook  his  head,  blushing  quick  with  pleasure 
none  the  less.  The  lad  was  striving  to  wash  the  stains 
of  fight  from  his  body  with  a  damp  towel.  His  sprained 
thumb  had  been  bandaged. 

"Don't  thank  me,  Captain,  thank  David  Cunningham! 
As  I  do!  I  didn't  do  a  blessed  thing  'cept  nearly  get 
killed!  Couldn't  find  a  tether  for  my  horse.  Was  feel- 
ing for  it  by  the  stalls.  All  of  a  sudden,  he  hit  at  me 
with  a  club!  Near  the  door,  he  was,  that  fellow  Mor- 
decai,  out  there.  And  I  ducked  to  his  shadow  in  time. 
We  had  it  pretty  hot  then  for  a  minute  or  two,  each 
catching  the  other  some  pretty  good  stingers  and  getting 
'em  in  return.  But  I  saved  my  chin,  the  while! 

"Then  all  of  a  sudden,  I  saw  it  was  Mordecai  Dough- 
erty. That  set  me  to  raging!  He'd  kicked  Bob,  here, 
when  he  was  hurt  and  down,  the  last  time,  you  know, 
and  he'd  helped  with  the  poker  in  the  cave!  I  did  my 
best!  He  got  me  under  finally  in  the  straw,  half  choked. 
Then  he  found  his  club  by  luck  and  picked  it  up.  The 
one  he'd  lost,  you  know,  at  the  beginning.  My  hand 
interfered  and  I  couldn't  smash  him  like  I  ought.  Reckon 
I  was  about  done  for,  but  Cunningham  must  have  heard 
the  racket  as  he  was  coming  past.  Anyway  he — " 

"Mighty  lucky  he  came  back  when  he  did!  He'd 
gone  up  the  hi1!  to  see  if  the  sheepcote  was  tight  against 
the  storm.  It's  a  blizzard,  this  time,  for  certain,  lads!" 
Captain  MacAfee  kept  his  eyes  on  the  prostrate  form 
of  Sandy  Flash,  as  the  wind  pounded  at  the  door  and 


278  SANDY  FLASH 

roared  about  the  eaves  and  chimney  pots.  The  flames  on 
the  hearth  quivered  high  in  answer,  leaping  up  the  maw 
of  the  fireplace,  or,  now  and  then,  spluttered  angrily 
to  sudden  whirls  of  snow  driven  downward  by  the  gusts. 
"He  said—" 

"Yes,  and  that  he  came  past  the  stable  just  when  he 
did,  too!  Another  second  and  I'd  been  brained,  like  as 
not,  I  reckon !  As  it  was,  Cunningham  jumped  in  and  we 
all  had  a  rough  and  tumble  of  it.  That  took  off  what  few 
clothes  I'd  left  on!"  Dave  pointed  ruefully  to  his 
scanty  remnants.  "That  fellow's  like  a  bear!  He  most 
ripped  me  apart  and  tore  me  naked,  then  broke  free! 
We  lost  him  in  the  dark.  He  fired  through  the  window, 
at  us,  after  he'd  gotten  on  his  horse,  but  we  were  running 
then  across  the  kitchen  to  see  what'd  happened  here!  I 
picked  up  the  sword  he  dropped  from  his  saddle.  Didn't 
have  it  on  in  the  stable,  anyway.  It'll  make  a  fine  corn- 
knife!"  He  laughed,  then  grew  serious  again.  "If  only 
he  hadn't  got  clear!  I  think  I  could  match  him  by 
myself  in  a  fight  that's  half  fair !  Thumb  and  all ! " 

"Reckon  you  could,  Davey,  you  old  lion,  but  I'm  most 
glad,  myself,  he's  gone."  Bob  spoke  slowly,  lowering 
his  voice  so  that  the  man  across  the  room  might  not 
catch  his  words.  "Yes,  even  if  he  did  get  me  once,  like 
he  did.  This  Flash  fellow  is  the  one  we  really  wanted 
and  both  of  us  helped  a  good  bit  in  the  getting  of  him. 
Do  you  know,  Dave,  I  half  think  Dougherty  was  on  our 
side  that  night  at  the  cave,  when  Sandy  Flash  had  the 
poker.  Dougherty's  a  brute,  all  right,  but  he  seems  to 
be  mostly  that  way  when  Flash  drives  him  to  it.  He 
never  was  cold  cruel,  thinking  things  out  ahead  of  time, 


THE  LOG  SET  279 

like  that  beast  over  there!"  Bob  shuddered,  as  he  re- 
called the  expression  he  had  seen  on  the  outlaw's  face. 
"We  got  the  leader  of  the  highwaymen  and  you  helped 
as  much  as  I  did,  too.  Remember  that,  Dave.  I'll  wager 
Dougherty'll  not  cause  much  trouble,  now,  by  himself. 
He's  too—" 

"Maybe  you're  right,  but  I  hope  they  get  him  all  the 
same!  I  certainly  hope  they  do.  I  wonder — "  Dave 
thought  of  his  recent  fight  and  grinned  wryly.  Sprained 
thumbs  are  sore  reminders.  As  long  as  his  was  throbbing 
as  angrily  as  it  was,  the  boy  was  not  likely  to  feel  much 
pity  for  the  man  who  had  caused  it.  Dave  Thomas  was 
human. 

Could  the  boys  have  read  the  future,  they  would  have 
seen  how  close  was  their  forecast  to  the  facts.  Mordecai 
Dougherty  was  not  captured,  it  is  true,  but  never  again 
was  he  heard  of  in  the  County  of  Chester.  Sandy  Flash, 
alias  Captain  Fitz,  was  taken  to  Chester  Gaol  and 
after  several  vain  attempts  at  escape,  received  sen- 
tence of  death.  On  the  morning  of  September  26th, 
1778,  he  was  hanged  in  the  yard  of  the  old  Courthouse 
there.  The  man  paid  just  price  for  his  crimes,  his 
vicious  cruelty  and  the  wanton  damage  done  his  neigh- 
bors. The  reward  of  one  thousand  dollars,  offered  by 
the  authorities,  was  divided  between  the  MacAfees  and 
Rachel  Walker  evenly,  Dave  and  Bob  maintaining  that 
they  themselves  had  not  been  the  actual  captors.  All  this, 
however,  lay  far  ahead,  as  Captain  Robert  and  the  boys 
stood  guard,  that  night,  snug  in  the  kitchen  by  Castle 
Rock.  The  snow  swept  in  staggering  buffets  about  the 
walls,  tearing  at  the  windows,  pelting  them  with  the  cruel 


280  SANDY  FLASH 

fury  of  driven  ice.  The  wind  whipped  down  from  the 
Willistown  Hills,  loud  with  the  crash  of  falling  trees  and 
splintering  branches.  Bob  listened  a  moment  to  the  tur- 
moil without,  then  got  up  and  moved  from  the  fireplace. 

"I  say,  Dave,  I  forgot  to  tell  you!  Nearly!  After  I 
left  Evanes'  I  came  down  by  Dutton's  Mill  and  had  a 
look  at  the  otter  pond.  I'd  put  a  new  set  there  the  other 
day  on  the  sly,  and  I  wanted  to  see  how  it  worked.  Knew 
this  snow'd  tie  us  up  ever  so  long."  He  crossed  the 
room.  "It  seemed  like  a  pretty  fair  try  to  me  and 
so—" 

"So  did  salt  on  their  tails,  last  time,  didn't  it?"  Dave 
chuckled  delightedly.  Bob  was  so  serious  about  the  thing 
that  his  chum  could  never  resist  the  chance  to  tease. 
Really  he  admired  him  vastly  for  his  keeping  at  it. 
"What'd  you  try  now,  Bob?  Better  be  careful  or  you 
might  get  something  you  never  bargained  for.  Was 
it  a  weasel  or — " 

"Not  this  trip,  Davey,  boy,  nor  a  muskrat  either. 
Look!"  The  big  lad  smiled  good-humoredly  at  Dave's 
patronizing  air,  then  stooped  beneath  the  kitchen  settle 
where  the  shadows  lay  dark  upon  the  floor.  Straightening 
suddenly,  he  swung  round,  his  prize  held  high.  Dave 
leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  shout  of  joy,  even  his  wounded 
thumb  forgotten  in  sheer  astonishment  and  delight.  Bob 
smiled  again  and  turned  toward  the  hearth. 

"This  is  what  really  fetched  us  here,  you  know,  Davey. 
The  two  of  us,  to-night.  This  started  it!"  He  grinned 
and  held  out  the  great  sleek  pelt,  a  thing  of  beauty, 
lovely,  tremendous  in  size,  amazingly  soft  in  the  firelight. 


THE  LOG  SET  281 

"This  is  what  ended  Sandy  Flash!"    He  nodded  toward 
the  prisoner.    "I  say!     Won't  father  be  glad!" 

Dave  touched  the  fur,  then  without  a  word  reached 
for  his  comrade's  hand.  He  gripped  it  hard,  a  game 
loser,  quick  to  yield  to  the  other's  luck.  Bob  Allyn  had 
trapped  the  Ridley  otter.  The  log  set  had  won  the  king 
of  the  pool ! 


THE  END 


A     000132261     9 


